The Dead Raindrops

I've tried as hard as I might
to give the help others needed,
to fill their times of loneliness
with times of happiness.

I need to rest,
so I escape to the moonlit air,
breathing the soothing tastes of night,
tracing the forms in the clouds above.

The clouds above begin to release
their relentless burden upon me,
raindrops plummet from heaven,
screaming their final tear
before becoming one with oblivion.

In the circular puddles before me,
the simplistic mirrors of dead drops,
I see the pictures of the lonely.
I witness the images of the dead.

So many people dying before their time,
trying with futile abandon to take others along.
Just as tears will again fall
from a bloody, translucent sky,
they will all become mist -
simple evaporated raindrops.

I can hear their silent cry of agony,
I can feel the deprivation in their hearts,
and I learn from their mistakes.

I step into the puddle to erase the image
and brush wet hair from my face.
I've accepted things as they are,
and know they will change.

Somehow I feel guilty of my knowledge,
wishing to tell the dead about the secret,
but I shake my head in bewilderment;
I can only help so much…