There is Solace

Raindrops clouding the pane,

A beaded curtain,

Glistening and shining,

Twirling down the glass.

Silky shadows mimicking,

The choreography of each sphere,

On the carpet

Which burns like sandpaper

Under her feet.

Until they form a puddle,

In the grime and filth

At the sill.

The bottom of the window,

Which has not been cleaned

Since they moved in.

The window is cold,

Its damp chill soothing

The heat that rises in her chest.

Calming,

As the clouds reach through

And gently brush her hair

Through the pane.

Looking out,

She would not mind the aftermath.

Because the raindrops,

A beaded curtain,

They also run--and spiral down the glass,

To flee from whatever chases them

And join one another in asylum.

Together.

For the raindrops which create a beaded curtain,

Which concealed her truth for years,

Now join one another,

Together.

Together,

In the filth and the grime and the mold.

The rain cannot be isolated,

Each drop's path joined

At the final destination,

Embracing in the mire.

Refugees who have bonded

Under the crashing storm,

Lurking,

Threatening,

Suffocating,

Overhead.