may you see now
why the french words for
rain
and cry
are so similar

and woe is you
when you
feel the
thick
hot
tears
kiss your two cheeks and
pleut

because the storm inside brews
darker than the strongest coffee
and deadlier than a gun

because the hurricane inside the man
is what is wrong

and woe be you
when you realise that
the thunder that lashes out with a hot tongue
is what causes pain

and that
the
lightning that strikes the man
is
what stings the most

that
the
tears that streak the sky
are what break
you

but all of that was just a
metaphor
for the hate inside

the hate that
festers
and
grows
like a cloud on a late august night

and woe be
you
when the hot river of pain
stings against your soul

but the
métamorphose
is
power

so now
you may dry
your river
and
yes
it takes time
more that you may have
but the
tulips of love
that bloom
only
after the rain

are worth the woe and pain
of years lost to
bitterness