Poems, Stories, And Unorganized Messes

Tears

What is rain?
We were told it was angels crying,
And thunder was them stomping,
And lightining was them turning on and off their lamps.
We were told not to stand in the rain.
Because it's wet,
And cold,
"You'll catch your death",
But I always drop what is thrown to me.
Is rain really tears?
Are the tears even sad?
What if they're the tears
That you cry,
Not when you're sad,
But released...
From pressure
And pain.
Those tears that wash away
The scars of yesterday
The ones you don't bury into your pillow but instead into your heart.
The tears trampled
In embraces
And "We made it".
They say a hero's journey is like a clock, with their story starting at one and moving to two and dying at nine and rebirth at ten.
And the story starts again
At twelve
In the rain.
Yes, the rain is cold
And wet
And makes us shiver...
But these tears of angels...
They are our own.