Rain falling outside a window made of glass,
sparkling drops cascading down the pane
and she rests her head against the window
staring out into the night, eyes half closed
as she ponders her place in this life.
Her tears are like the rain, splashing heavily
against the panel of glass in it's frame
and her heart holds it all together, whispering
silently into the night tide so that as they fall
they seem to wash away with every breath she takes.
There is no time now for sitting in the darkness
with a book in her lap, staring out at the rain
painting narrow rivers onto the glass as she waits
for a moment when freedom might creep up behind her
and grip her in a silent pang of fear for loss.
So her tears are long and buried beneath so many
mutations of everything she thought she would
have one day to speak for herself, choking on
her silent prayers as the tears run in quiet
longing down the sweet pink cheeks of her youth.
There is a sound behind her, candle light flickers
but she doesn't turn her head. This is all seen
through her mind's eye, and heard through her inner ear.
The tears continue to course down her cheeks
and she shudders, her mind drawing her deeper inwards.
These are her tears, a gift to the universe
and to the divine which inspires her just as the book
which sits in her lap gives her meaning, words
written down on a page by her own hands, each
singley a word, and yet more, as she is a woman but more.
What are her tears, but crystalized submission,
running like small diamonds down the soft skin
and caressing her silent agony, stroking it and stoking it
pulling her into her time and making her step back
to see it all as it really is, as it once was, and will be?
He owns not her body nor her mind, not each thing she is
but he owns her sould nad her heart, posessing them
like the small diamonds which make their way down
her cheeks, leaving rivers against the pink skin;
for these are precious, as she is precious, and she is his.
A moment of silence and then a hand on her neck, smoothing
and caressing, announcing his presence. She doesn't turn
her head, for it cannot be real, even as he bends his lips
to whisper in her ear as he brushes away a small crystal
from her shining cheek. "You are mine. Your tears are mine."
Outside, the rain continues to spatter against the glass
leaving it's tiny rivers of moisture running in succession
towards the frame. Within, she is held within his embrace
a woman enslaved to the master of her heart, every beat
for him. And her submissive tears are precious diamonds to him.
Copyright © Storm 2003
