Streams

In the middle of the dark night,

Her eyes woke up to streams gushing down those plump cheeks;

That tinge of red brighter,

Heat soaring through her ears,

Her head a furnace,

A volcano at the hem of eruption;

Fists clenched to breaking point,

Flesh tearing away

And nimble fingers breaking;

Then a shriek so loud,

Compelling heavens to shed a drop or two;

All she needed was a hand on those shoulders,

A pat on the back for triumphs,

A smile to share her joy;

And she would offer her shoulders

For tears to be shed on,

A warm hug to console for defeats

Moist eyes to share sorrow;

She had so much to give

Too much to ask for, perhaps!

A fragile heart writhed in pain,

As howls of desperation filled the air

The skies roared in inexplicable helplessness,

And streams gushed down, yet again!

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