Summer Verse

All the rush
is futile.
Ecstasy, Passion,
Love, Jealousy-
they come
when they have to.
Each day, Sun
kisses the Earth.
Once in every
few months,
comes the rain-
a final ingredient
to what's brewing inside-
and gives the beautiful
smell of wet Earth.
You see certain things,
smell them, feel them,
make memories
of them,
some sweet, some bitter,
some horrible, disgusting.
And, once in a while,
it sparks,
the fire inside you
burns with a demonic rhythm,
reaches a crescendo,
and you realise,
all the worries,
all the evenings
wounded by it,
all the dawns seen
by you
after sleepless nights,
all of it,
all of the rush
was futile.