You are rain,
sleet perhaps,
you do not fall with
the fierceness of
hailstones.
You are the red blush
in my cheeks,
the searing heat
in the tips of my ears.
Your tears fall upon
my glass pane world.
Trailing.
Faltering?
No simply halting.
Reflecting.
Poor drop of frozen
rain, can you not see?
Every path you take,
every path you took.
Look.
Leads to the same end,
no matter how hard
the fall,
no matter how fast
the race.
Karen Hayward ©2016
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