They fall,
teardrops from heaven
beating out
their primal rhythm;
a lullaby.
In the way
only rain can
it serenades me,
beckoning Hypnos
with its sporadic pulse.
The drops splatter
against invisible sand
their persistent course
cut short
by glass.
Clouds’ tears
fall down
with a last song.
Calling me
to blissful sleep.
Tree,
Your gnarled fingers grope the sky,
Limbs bathed in the silver light
Of a swollen, sexy moon.
Raindrop tears
Slap the ground around you
As questing branches search
the sky for answers.
In time gone past,
I painted my face,
To hide my soul
To bind it fast.
The mask lent truth
gave life to lies
tethered, imprisoned
my fragile youth.
The shroud of calm
locked up and hid
the raging torrent,
smothered the harm.
Til, under strain,
the visage broke.
And Black ink tears
melted the paint chains.
My face, naked,
My soul , bared,
The pain so clear
To all who cared.
But the soul did heal,
And the soul grew strong,
And the soul had a voice,
And the soul found its song.
I paint my face still,
Though I’m no longer bound,
Colour frees my heart
and strengthens my will.
Not hidden, you’ll see
The creature I am,
Bright, colourful, brave,
My true self now free.