Winter Rain

The skies are grey, and so is
my soul...
the drops that fall are icy
and cold
and void of feeling or pain
But not so the drops that fall from
my soul.
These bear the heat of a brand,
scorching my countenance as
they fall
Leaving tracks of burnt flesh and wounded
spirit.
And so I stand at my window and turn my face
to the sky
so that the drops that fall thereof
may cool the burn
and I watch the steam as it rises
from my pain and curls
drifting out and down under
the winter rain.