Rain hits the barren earth,
desert like in its thirst.

Dust springs up from one drop to meet another,
to welcome it and the life it brings with open arms.

I watch the rain,
listen to it,
but do not feel it,
no longer have that privelige.

It and its healing power came too late for me.

Born of the earth,
return to the earth,
so likewise must I.

I stare down at my sun-bleached bones,
hearing the moan of the thunder as the earth mourns me,
cries at having let me die.

Lightning flashes,
God's flares sent to beckon me home,
show me the way.

But I do not depart from this cracked and thirsty land.

I cannot,
not yet.

The portal into the heavens shall have to wait until I am ready.

For I am a lost soul,
broken by the harshness of this world,
by the loneliness and isolation,
and the never ending numbness of enduring so much pain.