50% Chance of Rain

[Quicksilver]

Upgraded from basic to moderate. Thank you to CRNDLSM for moving the old comments, but the new draft was accidentally deleted, so I'm reposting. I'm not sure about my title, I may want to rework it. From the previous edit, I have also tried to cut the poem down for a clearer focus, while keeping the core. Thanks in advance for the feedback!

A stuttering ocean,
Saltless and sunless
It is beating on the steepled head
Of a shingled roof-drum 
Clouds darkly grumbling secret thoughts


They are speaking
I am not listening, but somewhat watching
They are washing the world anew
Water is coloring the canvas of earth
The dusty soil, the thirsty trees,
Cinder blocks and sand
Like ink on a parched page
Tones darkening, they flow together


Are the raindrops cold?


The drumbeats crescendo
A lightning flash answering
Presciently
The crack of a thunderous question


Time is passing by.


Monitors glow softly, icy blue-white 
Warmly inviting
A magic mirror of distraction
There is no need to dream
To wonder how the wind feels
To hear the quietness of an empty house
Really hear it.


The storm abates unheard
The minutes stand unnoticed
Distractedly pushed aside
As if to be reclaimed 
Noise chosen to drown the other noise
No presence
Little peace



Until



the gently



interrupting



Staccato song of the river-sky
Persistently calling me,
I am listening 
Now
Sound not selected 
Simply found
I am stepping out the door
Smelling wetness and frosted breath blow by


I see the scenery inked over
A page, now full
An invested moment
The gentle patter of the clouds above
Secrets I find I understand
I drop my hood,
Toss back my head,
and let the raindrops land.

Edit 1

A stuttering ocean,
Saltless and sunless
It is beating on the spired heads
Of my fortress’s roof-drum 
Clouds darkly grumbling secret thoughts

They are speaking
I am not listening, but watching
They are washing the world anew
Water is coloring the canvas of earth
The dusty soil, the thirsty trees,
Cinder blocks and sand
Like ink on a parched page
Tones darkening, they flow together

Are the raindrops cold?

The drums are beating louder
Calling for a fight
A lightning flash answering
Presciently
The crack of a thunderous question
The winds are picking up now

Tiny rivulets, small invaders
Slamming sideways, over, through?
They always seek unguarded hallways 
Any point they can march inside
Break my castle’s panes of glass
To sink beneath my skin
And make my colors run
This, I am seeing 
through the cracked window shade

Time is passing by.

My screen glows soft, icy blue-white 
Warmly inviting
A magic mirror of distraction
There is no need to dream
To feel the wind
To hear the quiet
Really hear it.

I am a voluntary prisoner
Of a lack of presence
Contained within my castle's corridors
Diverting my attentions
From thoughts too numerous, 
Jostling, elbowing
Crowding my fragile skull

The storm is waning
Is it inside?
My over-full mind is
A roaring battalion
I am dry
I am drowning
Am I breathing?
Silence, 
for an eternal 
Moment…

Until

the gently

interrupting

Staccato song of the river-sky
Persistently calling me,
I am listening 
Now
Rolling my drawbridge down
Zipping my water-proof armor
Stepping out from shadowed spires

As I see the scenery inked over
A page, now full
An invested moment
The gentle patter of the clouds above
Secrets I find I understand
I drop my helm,
Toss back my head,
and let the raindrops land.

Original

A stuttered, saltless ocean
Beating drums on a rooftop's head
Clouds percuss their with their long-held secret, sacred thoughts

Dreaming aloud,
They wash the world anew
As water colors the canvas of earth
The dusty soil, the thirsty trees,
Cinder blocks and sand
Like ink on a parched page
Tones darken and flow together

Tiny rivulets slyly slink over and through
Seeking always the hidden hallways 
Across my fortress walls of glass
To sink beneath my skin
And make my colors run
This, I once thought I knew

Until one day, 
While trapped within my castle's corridors
With my thoughts too numerous, jostled and elbowing
For my small and fragile skull
I heard the call of waters falling

I rolled down my drawbridge
I slunk in careful, cold-resistant, water-proofed armor

Until

The gentle

Interrupted

Stacatto song of the river-sky
Beckoned more deeply than I could stand
I threw off my hood,
Tossed back my head,
and let the raindrops land.