Seasons of the past... ( Mind storm )

Opening like a flower
only to catch the rain
that falls like tears
from blood soaked eyes
releasing swells of pain

Sorrow fills the callouses
the cracking and crumbling grasp
as outstretched hands surrender innocence
from fingertips to the wrist

Reflecting an unbearable image
back through the window pane
in a valiant attempt to resist himself
he curses his own name

New hope briefly birthed
like a sprout and a bloom
only to give way to thirst
overwhelmed by impending doom

Whitewashed hands that bleed and crack
unearth their weathered palm
and droplets of regret evaporate
as if they've never come

Seasons of the Past Persist
revealing what has been
as mankind shakes his fist
never to cry again.