‘ It’s Raining’ & ‘ What Falls Through The Cracks’- 2 poems by Kevin Fuller

Original Work by Kevin Fuller

It’s raining

It’s raining, no need to face the stars,

Magnificence staring me in the face

Reminding me I’m less than an ant

and truly smaller than a speck of dust.

If I travel higher than five floors,

I need to get my feet back on ground

Like I’ve been on a spaceship flying

 through skies to some foreign planet.

This star burns bright enough for me

I don’t need to traverse space to escape

I’ll just stay right here on dirt and dust

Escaping waters and skies is not for me.

For now it’s raining and I’m happy still

No need to call the sun through clouds

The mist on my face makes me smile

My secrets come from beneath the moon


What falls through the crack

– an upliftin and original po-em

What falls through the cracks

Are the bits we should pick up and observe

A glimpse only in a reflection of a mirror

A slightest sigh between words almost not spoken

These are the half-lives we always must lead

That we can’t fully take it all in,

That we never know what was around the corner we turned

How memories compress into what we consider meaningful

Leaping like does through our field,

Our thoughts constantly racing to some future

Promising to be brighter, Brighter in some new Sun

That will lighten our Tropic in some new way…

What falls through the cracks

Are the realizations of the hopes we dream of

The realities that can change lives Now, this instant,

Gleaming like embers in a dying fire on a distant hill.

When I was a boy, I played outside in the yard

In the dirt, knees scraped by brambles I ran through

Blood seeping down the ankles to form tiny clots

And healing immediately.

I didn’t reflect on what I did, but experienced life in the fullest

My very body propelling me forward into uncertainty I knew as certain.

What a golden age to return to, the unconscious youth-years ago

When the lifeblood was rushing through to the very bones.

This is what falls through the cracks,

That if we just pause but a moment to drink in a drop more,

That quiet drop that rings between the finger and the wine glass,

We truly can melt into that same harmony, the rings of singing fingers

And the songs of the ancient spheres…

That sounded before birth, now drowned out by our comings and goings…

O that song would sing on it’s own…


Evansville, Indiana

April 2013

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