I have seen the rain from above.
Does it feel the same near the clouds as it does on the ground?
Tears run down the gentle cheek, following a path left by years of a violent river that was too narrow for the water it held.
Rough palms, cracked heels like weathering rocks.
While you cannot wash your feet with the tears from your sins,
How can you expect the cosmos to wash its flaws with rain?
But why do you shine so bright and look so warm?
A stance so bold that it would bend space and time.
Eyes staring down the target while the mind refuses to let go,
In control of all the possibilities and holding destiny in your palms.
But only until the tears reach the end of your face.
That's where you return to null.