Tragedy seeps through me;
through my cracks
like sun-scorched earth.
Baked and hardened to the point of breaking,
but I do not break.
Instead my sadness spills
filtered,
recycled,
over you.
Will these tales help you cope?
Your body and mind parched for understanding,
I shall become your storm cloud;
though mine are not the harsh and angry storms you've known,
but a gentle summer rain.
I am the storm you stand in,
neck craning upward,
eyes closed and smile fresh on your lips.
Let my pain cleanse yours,
and when your sadness seeps into the earth,
then shall I take it in.