Watching The Rain - Raw poetry

it's called "watching the rain" ...when it rains I picture the droplets splashing off trees leaves the grass blades and the cemented pave ways of my lawn and they are splashing with glimmering cymbal sounds so I listen to the pathways that the winds blow making the rains sway as though the wind running its hands through the clouds' hair and as I listen, deeper I hear the silent whispers as drop cuts through air so easily as though coal on ice I hear some of the rain slide off the roof edge and fall in a simple synchrony to the trenches below where the waters twirl in a dizzying whirl of circular foamy white as though imitating clouds from whence they came and then I inch closer to listen and watch the droplets whisper and dance to their pitter patter on earth and even closer I inch as if the drips of rain rest on my skin tickling my feet like soft feather caress... this is about the rain corrupting my brain my mind has no drain it's about the rain so this rain is a mystery of my memory why do I love your speak when your speak drenches me? why must my back tire with heavy soaked clothes? why do I cherish your warm embrace? why do I cherish your cold embrace? your chilled touch as this kiss that is this that will melt my moment every moment goes and it blows on by the tears, they fall from my eye I think perhaps I might die but in your own eye you will see the truth if you don't see this you won't see the use you must see you must see the use in me the use in you the trinity is nothing else than you and me why do I love this rain? is it for the fact that the icy kiss freezes my heart from feel? or is it the cold embrace that helps chase away all sense of thought? and the chilled touch that blinds my eyes from sights? and so the rain hail will pour upon my soul send the icy cold blocks of tiny imperfection to cut through my skin and place within the knowledge that imperfection is the beginning of perfection and that the fruits do not sprout from anything but from dirt let the lightening strike shock my soul to life and the thunderous bellows send my fears bellow may the thick dark tufts of cottoned clouds shelter me from the blinding light... that forbids me to see ...hindsight hide those stars that go about tainting the cold dark night… that shelters me from this harsh day light but now it just drizzles and I wish it could rain deep thick sheets coming down endlessly drowning out the voices so that I may be wrapped in its thick icy embrace numbing my nerves with every drop… inch by inch, until I am immovable like a rugged mountain they say the sun gave life... it's useless... all that it does is suck all the moisture from me... do I have identity?