In the dark foreshadowing of doom,
I slumped with measured tread
past London monoliths that rose
dejectedly
towards a glowering sky;
my thoughts like lead,
when, suddenly,
the sky was torn apart with blinding force.
Thunderstruck, I pulled up short
and raised the collar on my coat.
The rain began,
small drops at first
that slapped and stung my face,
whipped up by wind
into a furious assault
that left me cleansed,
elated by the primal force,
and soaked,
no longer in self-pity
and slum-pervaded thought,
but in the glorious freshness,
steam on stone,
as the glistening sun came out again,
defiantly adorning streets in evanescent gold.
It takes, at times,
a sudden storm to wash away the grime
from city streets and living.
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