The Hurts of Rain.

When rain begins to fall from skies, it often brings relief, But for some hearts, the drops of rain are harbingers of grief. Each droplet is a teardrop shed, a whisper of the pain, A symphony of sorrow in the rhythm of the rain. The thunder echoes through the night, like cries that go unheard, A storm that rages deep within, where hearts cannot be stirred. The lightning strikes a wound anew, illuminating scars, Reminders of the battles fought, beneath the weeping stars. The hurts of rain are silent tears, that blend with nature's own, A melancholy melody, that cuts right to the bone. Each puddle is a pool of woe, where memories arise, Reflections of a time gone by, seen through tearful eyes. The raindrops kiss the windowpane, like gentle, fleeting dreams, But dreams can turn to nightmares in the moon's elusive beams. The hurts of rain are borne alone, as shadows dance and play, A dance of wistful longing in the gray and somber day. Yet in the hurts of rain, there lies a cleansing, healing power, For tears can wash away the pain, like rain revives a flower. Though storms may rage and hearts may ache, the rain will ebb and wane, And in the calm that follows, we find strength to face again.