It has stopped raining, little one,
and the sun has since come out.
So, why, little one, do you linger
entranced in silent thought?

Children are meant to splash and play
in the aftermath of the storm:
giggling in their over-sized rain boots
and gaily leaping into large puddles.

And yet, you, child, are still--
peering into the depths of your reflection.
Wondering,
waiting,
hoping that if you stare long enough
the image might seem different;
that such a daunting shadow
might only exist in the light.

For this is why you crouch--
Hiding beneath a dark shield
with expressionless eyes cast downward--
gently dipping a tiny finger
into an ocean of fallen tears.

They are wet and smooth
against young skin:
caressing
and pleading,
but deceiving nonetheless.

They twinkle and shine
in the presence of light
for a chance to masquerade
as the sanguine sky.

Yes, this is why you stay, child.
For the pristine blue glistens within reach
and you are curious about how it would feel
to be the mighty yellow sun above the clouds;
to only know of warmth and light.

But the waves you create
only move farther and farther away.
And the clear skies become distorted.
And the brilliant reflection begins to fade.

So sad, isn't it, child?
How curiosity is doomed
to discover bleak realities?

Oh, little one,
so startling is the roaring sound of truth
to your fragile ears;
so loud comes the shout of death
to the ones expecting a whisper.