Weathervain

Light rain crying softly on my windowpain ice cold road mapped hands directing wet, salty film away. Water paints so perfectly displayed in a wink the pale canvas starts to decay. Flawless beauty violently strikes into ashes streaks of lightning remain behind diamond studded glasses. Thunder rolls inside this hollow, temperate frame like a strong storm chasing each and every grain. Once a clear sky overnight the light died too afraid to go back to what is left of inside. Looking up into the long, billowy flight of snowball white stairs Feeling a calm caress my damaged wind blown white hairs. A gentle breeze dancing around our appropriate attire as stain glass tears put out this blazing inner fire.