Long after the storm had died
the river lived
in drips and gushes
like tears
like beads of glass
bleeding down gorges
of sorrow on her face
The night had been too long
the windows broken by the breeze
the sky like heavy brows
over angry eyes
the lightning in the distance
an unsheathed dagger
in a lonely alley at night
You told me to meet you here
after the storm had passed
after the thunder in your chest
had stopped
after the falling rain
had blessed
this ground
But through each painful tear
the lightning appears
and that night returns
to catch each rolling drop
each tiny fear
each possibility
at your naked feet
I waited and waited till the storm had stopped
but the river flowed
and the beads I saw
were no longer tears
but balls of bitter glass
unbroken, unborn
unable to live and, therefore, to die
Wesley Gibbings
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/surviving-the-storm-3/
