when the skies weep
and close their hands with anger;
when they mourn continuously
and their friends unite
with much rage, -
the sharp words of thunder
and the blinding stare of lightning...
i stay in silence,
and inside, i mourn with them.
my eyes look empty
but my heart is full of rage;
and i join the skies
hear to heart, we connect
expressing what is supposedly real
teaching one the lessons of failure.
when they stop, i stop...
and i listen to their sighs.
suddenly, each dropp becomes
music to my ears;
each dropp develops a rhytym of beat
in my heart
because now they sing to me
and clam my nerves as they are.
suddenly their anger sprays with
the freshest poignant on air, -
the smell of everything become clean,
unnerving, and miraculously still.
it touches me...
unconsciously, i drift away
taking their aura with me
and in a second of reality,
in a moment of truth
i become,
the sky.

by Myangel Twaño

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