How the skies open up when I cannot.

I look to watch the ****** drops
But find that which I searched to lose.
Innocent rivulets of an unmarred present
Trickle down a ghostly face that looks at me,
But I could not call this face my own.

The sullen features most familiar,
Without a promise to hold them gaunt,
Now frame an old familiar friend:
A pair of eyes, the common dark,
But tinged with hunger, drive, conviction -
Those eyes could pierce that haunted pane
And look right back at me.

It could be just a trick of the light -
Though night has little to speak of -
But clever minds would see the placid rain,
With no regard for mice nor men,
And see how nature's purest untouched nectar
Falls at present to wash away the past.

Whether moonbeams or temporal divination,
I saw the promised land in that pallid plastic.
To call those hungry, driven eyes my own -
A fire burns within my tindered heart,
And all I have to offer is kindest kindling.

How the skies opened up when I could not.