Thunder’s Tears

I remembered the first rain

it fell like a cool mist

clung to our skin and made us love drops

think and breathe their texture

dream of walking naked in a downpour,

find some soaked grass to lie

and let our lives swim that sea

of showering, sultry sensations.

 

When the drought came so did the silence,

eyes once serene and filled with thirst,

ever craving another cloudburst

slowly drained of their watery spell.

 

They grew cold and gray

bore as a tempest gaze,

then I felt the thunder rage,

a maelstrom of brooding,

broadcast in the lightning strike comment

that ripped apart the calm air over our hearts.

 

How the warnings made me quince

from the pain of knowing

we would never share the drizzle again.

 

For you had put an umbrella between us

it would always keep you dry,

except for the tears that flowed

when those booms you suppressed

drenched the parched soil of your soul.

 

Sometimes I still stroll

beneath they leaden sky,

look for some puddle

where once we shared those splashes,

which washed over us

in a reason to embrace.

 

Though I still can shudder

when the explosion happened above

without the one who made them deafening

they are just distant drums.