I was a broken man
that Sunday in the park
of course, it was raining
and the rain danced
within the holes of my heart
big boys don’t cry
so I crouched and held my head
the rain grew stronger
so I accepted it
and pretended my tears were rain
but I still felt broken
until I heard the sound of her voice
midst bouquets of beautiful flowers
singing out some lyrical poem
one I couldn’t understand
but it filled the holes in my heart
as she made me happy
One such as I
should never attempt
should never presume
should abandon hope
of knowing her
yet her voice was a siren
compelling me to her side
I couldn’t think of a thing to say
so I said nothing
as she held my hand
one Sunday in the park
and knowing my loneliness
she touched me and sang
and, Dear Lord, she made me happy
the rain ended
as it often does
and the spell was broken
she said she’d always be here
again when it rains
and the rains begin to drown me
Time passed
there were many times I should have returned
but my pride prevented it
One particular Sunday, feeling more broken then ever
I returned to the park
She was not there
Dear Lord, who should feel betrayed?
I, who couldn’t battle my pride?
Or that girl with the flowers
Who said she’d always be there?
| 
