Eyes Cry at Cloudy Skies

My burning red raw, bloodshot eyes, strain expectantly, under reluctant skies, counting fingers, with tearful sighs, longing for sunbeams, that will defiantly prys, to open cracks in gray clouds, at sunrise. An eye soon cries when a spirit expires, lowering a curtain over its own demise, knowing that gray clouds, in soft disguise, conceal a heart, where a storm resides. We can’t grasp, retrieve, or analyze, every drop of tear that fate applies, to drown out our faltering hopeful smiles, with splattered stings, spat, from leaden skies. Let's stride forward beyond the woe betides, that arise from seeing skies cloudy at sunrise, to cherish every moment, without compromise- as bearing gifts that bring joyous surprise.