Morning Rain

Morning rain on the darkened pane
sliding off my memories
of those lonely yesteryears
my remembrance
as rain washing off dirt
encrusted on perceived love
twisted in trust and faith

there would be other rainy mornings
when tears mingled with the showers
to land and invigorate the grass
to melt hardened resolves  
as frost on a summer day
breathing on not wanting to know
to feel to see to speak

enforced tranquility of aloneness
unfeeling
living was merely breathing
then Words like little raindrops
fell one by one on a dead soul
the lifeless seed quivered
growth of hope on blackened
bulb, stubs of faith appeared

“It is raining this morning, My Angel!”
“That’s good, My Love, Rain cools…”