Rain, Edward Thomas

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
on this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying tonight or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be for what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.

at the bottom

the thing
with normal people is
that they are not
like me.

I like to know things they don't.

I know this
because when I
try to talk about things
that interest me
they all walk away.

they think I'm weird
and that's okay,
because I am.

I know why I'm like
this:
I
get
bored.

trivialities
and generalisms
are not my thing.

(apart from the fact
that I don't like doing
whatever it is conceived
as "normal")

I get bored easily
and they don't.
and that's amazing,
I envy them.

I try to be normal
I've tried this month
and I just got angrier
with the world.

I can't stay
in the surface
when I've seen
what lies at the bottom.

I'm sorry
and I hope you understand
my other side.