Beg For Rain.
Tears are the betrayers of our souls. We can fight and we can turn away, but once they pierce the backs of our eyes, we cannot halt them.
Relentlessly, they come.
Tears have a will of their own. They are strong and will grip our throats and strangle us until we are forced to release them.
Powerfully, they come.
Tears will sell our secrets, flaunt our vulnerability and make easy fools of us.
So, with all this said, why don’t
They come?
Tears.
Bless-ed tears.
Let them rain down and wash me away.
Let the water sanitise, let their salt sterilise and
Let me be clean.
Please come.
Laura.
Strangest feeling reading that…rather as if you had taken a stroll through my head. Poetry should touch the heart, reach the soul: you’ve accomplished both with Beg For Rain. You see, I keep thinking I need to cry, should cry, am expected to cry. I even make ‘appointments’ with myself, setting aside times when I can be alone, can allow myself to ‘let go’.
Nothing.
‘No regrets’, you said, in an earlier response.
I regret the absence of tears.
Grief is a monster.
Thank you, Jen.
I was looking over my tribute to my mother last night and reread all the beautiful comments, including yours. It’s good to hear from you.
I hope you’re taking proper care of yourself.
Laura x
Beautiful
x
Thank you, Debbie. xx