And did the rain fall…

The rain storm that was coming, now did like a climax

To a never ending story, interwoven with pain, clearly agonizing

Twenty-One tears fell, sundering this, the veil of tears

And now, in the eye of the hurricane, I stand lost, waiting for the rapture, as if it would ease my suffering.

Twenty-two tears tell a story, woven like the forests of the deep

Like the moss that crawls across my grave, though I am not dead

Long did I yearn, to burn and to desire you

Though the booming thunder, that was my heart

And the continual flash of lightning, the passion

What do I have now, but memories that burn wholeheartedly in the

Midst of this storm?

It moves like the Odyssey, but I am not Odysseus

My heart is like the sailors lost to the Siren

But I am not on a quest for gods who are idols; who neither speak nor move, but are clever inventions of my mind

Like you? Are you that clever invention, or are you real?

A madman I am, that I won’t be mad

Traversing life as if it weren’t a journey, but a journey to a grave I will embrace but not love

As if it were a lover I couldn’t have, nor understand

Twenty-Three sighs, and a bridge is crossed

Now to stand atop the cliffs

The maelstroms ever present, and denied nothing by the very nature upon which I hold fast

The Chaos riveting, and for a second, all law and order cause confusion

What do I hold to, that my heart be cleaved like common flesh?

Did I truly love you, as I stare out into the terror of the deep?

A question that only I can ask, or hope it to be answered in the drowning storm

There is only one candle left lit in the drafty house

And am I to save its light, or let it go, like I let you be

Twenty-four flashes, crashes and rolling thunder

Lets me know my human heart is that… human

And the pinnacle of my mystery has yet to come

Because for twenty one tears, I was a lover whose virginity was pierced, and the blood flood as tears to show my pain, my joy

My passion at the love bestowed for a fragile second

Who could understand that love between us, leads us astray?

Twenty-five moments of silence

As if I were counting the moments to my unceremonious demise

Seppuku, by choice, to avoid my shame

Is this my ritual suicide?

By no means do I wish to die, but here I am, the Tanto in my hand

Ready to remove the last edifices of love in my bowels that make the very core of my soul;

Who will be my second to remove my head, that all sense should be restored to it once it’s free of me?

What nonsense I speak, and I stand in the middle of a storm?

Aye, it is no nonsense and this storm is of my own doing

The thoughts crash like waves against each other and only the silent shudder of my flesh against the storm is as the ecstasy when I knew your flesh time and again

Did God know this, that this pain would be wrought if I should be with you and not be married to you?

If only I could throw myself on His Mercy, but I know that I can

Would it be as easy as if I fell down this cliff to my perdition?

My Perdition…

Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight

Steps to the very edge, and only the lightning above opens the mouth of the emotional Gehenna

The winds whip around me now, as the storm draws closer, threatening me like the sirens who lured the Odyssey to a watery tomb

Where is my watery tomb?

Under these tears I must stop now for one moment as my eyes look upwards into the sky

And seek for one moment, one bittersweet moment to understand why I must be free of loving you, and why I must never stop?

Yet no understand comes, the thunder is too loud for me to hear it

Will my heart be silent?

At this the twenty-ninth drop baptizes me again

And my soul begs me to step back into the maelstrom

But on the thirtieth note, as if this were the scourging of Christ, I fall to see myself a sacrifice…

To awaken in my bed, an ocean of tears into my pillows.

It is late, and the hours soon draw the morning

I can only hope as I lay here, in pain and in agony

That though you are not in my bed, that you understand that I love you

And through the rainstorm which comes and goes of its own accord, that you are free, very free of me.

The final clap of thunder, and my soul pours out all

I don’t dare to answer the phone, turn on my laptop or even light a cigarette.

I must stare listlessly into the night

For the coming salvation, that is the morning.