Nimbus clouds hover, teasing, as she waits
for drenching, cleansing torrents
to drown pain.
Tears are too minute
to dilute grand disillusions,
to dissolve disappointments,
to disintegrate dreams
that don’t realize
life makes no promises.
It just flows
even over mountains of lost hope.
And it decides if it will rain,
or if there’ll be drought.
So much is out of her control.
But she knows life
won’t allow the clouds to menace forever.
Eventually, they’ll release the rain,
wash a path for the sun.
(Submitted to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.)