Heaven's Pond

Tis raining- heaven's crying: effort- calm, cool hell,
Filthy pond outside, ripples, swells, absorbs.
Crispen breeze dances with pastoral erections,
I go to join.
But it forbids-

Mine tears flood reservoirs of purple heart; of broken fate-
Only ripples swells, and absorbs.
I try and I try and I try- shape myself:
something nominal;
to cool down, calm fiery pace to oblivion.

Clouds to pond, pond to clouds;
Pain to heart, heart to pain;
Joy to doom; doom to joy.

Perhaps divine tears better a chance-mould, cleanse filthy pond,
Than mine to mound and cleanse I.


Explanation:
This is kinda like the song "In the End" by LP: 'I tried so hard and got so far/but in the end it doesnt even matter.'

The initial setting is that its raining. I'm in front of a filty, murky green pond. The rain represents heaven crying to calm down and cool hell (cuz hell is usually depicted to be fire, thus water would cool it). The pond now represents hell- and instead of heaven mollifying it, it just aborbs the divine tears, and even with the numerous beatings heaven gives it, all it does is 'ripple.'Then the breeze that goes along with rain- the cool breeze, starts blowing, and it jingles the trees and plants (pastoral erections), and I go to enjoy the wind- but the wind is so severe, I cannot.

Then dejected and despondant, I sit inside thinking of my countless tears which were shed in contemplation of wounded feelings as well as hopelessness in life- and i marvel that the inumerable tears has had an equally non-existent affect on reality as the rain has on the pond. It too simply absorbs the tears, and only slightly ripples even at all efforts.

Then I explore the phonemoenon of clouds turning into ponds, and ponds into coulds- condensed water from coulds rain from above, and later on that water evaporates and turns into clouds: it a continous, cyclical process. Same it is with pain, it feeds the heart, and to have a heart it so have pain is an example of the interrelationship with the two. The same case with doom-joy-doom: a continuing process.

Then I conclude thinking, that the rain has a better chance to cleanse and bring about shape to the murky pond, than my effors and tears to purify and make something of myself.