Rain

The rain comes
as I walk down the street.
In droplets it comes,
Cool, clean, refreshing,
Carrying with it the false promise of purification.
I stand,
Letting it wash over me,
Buying into the concept that one such as me can be clean.
As its purity covers me,
I wait for the layers of pain and sorrow to wash away.
But of course they don't.
The rain stops,
Leaving me unchanged.
I weep then,
Hot, bitter tears filled with regret
For a life mis-spent,
And a twisted, tormented soul.
And this rain cleanses me
As God's never will.