Storm clouds roll in
Over my mind.
I’m not ready
For the rain.
Hanging above, they deliver
Me their tears
No one else can see.
I move through crowds,
The only one needing shelter.
Thunder claps deafen me to your words.
A cold, white sheet of rain
Wraps itself around me
And obscures everything from view.
Calls for help are eaten up
By every drop.
Resigning to the will
Of my private storm
I press my hand to its walls,
An act of finality…
Before the wall is pierced
By an umbrella opening.
A face hangs under it.
The face of the one
Who found me.