He Cries with You

Heavenly tears spring fast from the darkening blanket wound tightly around the sky

I run my bruised hand slowly over my cheeks caressed with the wet embrace

The crystal droplets winding their way down past my eyes, mixing with the salty streaks

Lovers separated lie weeping, broken hearts ceaselessly brimming

Standing in their windows and staring aimlessly past the street lights that burn brightly in the darkness

Watching the rain snake crazed patterns on the panes

Tracing the lines etched by the water with shaking fingertips

Quiet fires chasing away the pain and adding to the despair

Hope, the thing with feathers, lies broken like shattered pieces of porcelain

Words escape these young minds

That only look to the past, reliving the memories

Those abandoned black-and-white memories that haunt the weathered pages of their hearts

Their eyes are left to watch the distraught eyes of heaven

Those eyes that cry of reading the pages of unrequited passions

Those eyes that cry of seeing her slipping away from his aging mind

Those eyes that cry of writing their destiny

And They see it all

And cry

– pc

I wrote this poem a little while ago when it was raining as a sad ode to rain and love. Tell me what you think in the comments and enjoy!



If it was ever tangible, so real that its fruit dangled in front of your eyes, would you still stretch an arm to pluck it from its place? To separate it from its crooning branch that so firmly clasped it to its chest?

If it was so enchantingly glorious that the world rejoiced in plethora, in recognition of the excess that brought it to every wavering palm, would you close your hand around it? Would you still shut your eyes and smile silently to nobody but yourself?

If the moments of agony were no longer daggers but a sword of rose petals, would you still throw open the doors to greet the frightful knights that surrounded your palace? Would you still coerce the enemy into fighting a cruel gory battle with you?

If it spoke in a faint high voice that streaked through the crystal and was so clear you could see your reflection in its clarity, would you still find the beauty in the opaque? Would you still while away your listless moments in wonder, in strange guessing games it led you into?

If it was any of these, would you still call it love?

– pc

Tell me what you think of my writing and the poem in the comments!