I lay sleepless again last night,
listening to the silence of the falling rain.
It was a still, steady downpour
devoid of all fire or fury,
drained of every emotion,
as if the heavens cared no more
for me or my long-dead dreams.

No Zeus, no Indra
unleashed terror,
the clouds wrestled
but made no thunder
the heavy dark sky
just sobbed silently
like a poorly paid mourner.

And yet somehow,
even those false tears
seeped down deep
way below the humus,
soaking what lay interred,
long forgotten.

When the day dawned
and the sky smiled,
I saw the magic
of fresh rain lilies,
thousands of them,
dancing in the breeze.

On their pink cheeks,
I saw yesterday's tears.