Agony

It rains agonic in the Easter's night
and I'm feeling more godless
than Thomas.
Through the walls of my house
the rain makes a way for itself.

The building's daub splits
by the acid splashes
and the water flows in me
from the graven sky.

The harsh lightning hews
light from the lights
of some undreamed beliefs.
My nature goes numb,
lost in desires.

And then, the thunderblast
makes an indescribable noise,
breaking my ear drum,
when I glance at the stove
on the cellar's stairs.

It rains agonic in the celestial night,
but I can feel the damp no more,
merely my muddy and dreary voice
echoes in abyss.