The Rains Began

Seemed days had passed,

since I’d heard their steady cry,

my rooftop comes alive,

with the steady rains,


Oh we do need the tears,

especially in those quiet times,

when our heart has stopped.


The beat of our sympathy,

some time lost in the scathing heat,

of a hot sunlight,

meant to persecute our peaceful



I heard the rains begin,

the drops of cleansing cry,

she told me they would arrive.


And so I listened,

and could cry for hours afterward.

I Wonder Who Told Me

For it was that time my heart sank,

when I knew I was no longer alone,

I was exposed,

and the world around me felt anger.


I walked the city streets that night,

and the cobblestone felt ugly,

looking for crevices to catch my feet,

wanting to trip me into the street.


A stumble is so obvious to the naked eye,

yet hiding the pain is such a mystery.

We often are left just wondering how,

we could ever begin to understand a cry.


If I were to melt inside the rays of a hot sun,

there would be reason to wonder just why,

instead the days continue to run beyond

my control, I’m still only able to crawl.


One day a friend of mine, chose a story,

I listened because I always trusted his reason,

and afterward, well I just wanted to …

yet when the truth is told, we don’t ask why.


I do wonder sometimes, why it is we cry,

when we are always part of the reason

we exist, the answer to finding legacy

is in the message, while traveling on by.


Stop and listen, and your friend will answer,

from there well, the reasons I’ll defer.

Civilized Agony

Tears are real,

though hidden,


we really don’t reveal

fires inside,

we can’t allow others

inanimate reasons

to hold court

in the presence

of others.

When alone,

that ability

to cry out loud

delights the mind,

while sitting alone

without audience

tears will flow free

and yet if we reveal

a sob, a gasp, an awkward

shift in posture,

if we,

allowances are made,

we become free,

we fly inside a dream,

a myriad of emotion

follows …

in there a world

far beyond

a typical day,

a routine need,

a wonderful sunrise,

becomes ironic,

we believe our soul

cleansed again.

Don’t Try Again

I decided it might be pointless,

though I’d been told that so many times

before while always refusing.

I just kept searching for that moment,

when tears would just come,

nothing forced, only real.

Then came the pause,

when we think about is it really the cry,

or instead are we wondering just why,

there seems to be a need to cleanse our soul.

That’s what it is I believe,

whenever I get close to understanding

just how happiness floats around my mind,

well, it often seems it is then that I

do falter again, and ask for more.

See as I write these words tonight,

I suppose you might think they’re about you,

and one time they were, a long time ago,

yet, damned if I couldn’t have known then

how simple my freedoms would be now.

I’m listening to Judy Collins,

she’s singing Amazing Grace,

and I haven’t any reason why,

but I will cry. I will want to cry.

Cry Only For Me


‘enter the void’ © jessica larue mccann









Cool morning frost play upon car windows

knowing what lies ahead, wanting something

else that might suit her mood. Always a glance

yet sometimes only the damp wind that blows

across naked skin; trudges unwilling

toward another circumstance. When chance

sweet spiritual grace in peace drawn love

embrace the pained heart quiet, walking soft

only will stir the common soul whose Eyes

keep watch. We may all listen, mourning dove

elegant and resonant we will oft,

skip her coo, delightful tones, eery wise.

When while a world remains our earthly draw

In silent respect may we then know Awe.



I Cry Sometimes

In the public eye what appears is shadows

Silent images along a wall

Faceless yet moving

The physicality is all that really tells

A story

A moment

A person looking directly cannot realize

The true extent of the shadow’s eyes

For their blank

Unseen crevices in a brick foundation

If for a glimpse

Inside the shadow’s soul

One might discover

A constant pain

A deep seeded memory

That twists around decades

Of child becoming man

That day when everyone laughed

With no one recognizing the truly hurt



The inner peace shattered

While along the wall the physical movements

Remain the same

Just simple gestures along a blank canvas

And How I Cry

Our own hourglass

The one that holds

Your heart

As invisible as time

Will still exist

No matter

Not knowing

Just because


For the value of love

Can be defined

In a skip across the

Damp pavement of a city blind


People out walking their dogs

Normal lives

That I cannot touch

Yet stand nearby

And wonder about

How He decides upon a journey

Even the dampness of the morning

Reminds me that I do feel you


With every step my life

Exists by a virtue

A value

A common ground


That when it is exposed

Feels just then slowly bound


Only then