Angel Tears: A Poem

It's raining.
Pouring down in a steady stream.
Here I am.
Stuck inside.
I wonder how long I'll have to wait, just sitting here.
Rain watching.
The lightening flashes, thunder crashes
like the deafening blow of some lethal weapon.
The lights flicker and the house shudders, heaving its dying breath
before plunging me into darkness.
I hug my knees to my chest so tight,
so tight, as the angels weep for some lost soul.
At least, that's what my mother always said,
angels.
I laugh, weakly.
I'm not afraid of the rain.
Or the thunder.
Or the dark.
It's pouring.
Raining down in a steady stream.
Here I am.
Stuck.

It's thundering. More. And more.

It's raining.
Again.
Streaming down my shutters.
And here I am, waiting inside.
Counting flashes and crashes from the safety of my upstairs landing.
The water rushes through my storm drains as loud as little typhoons.
Drowning and destroying.
Everything in their paths.
Tiny acorns and lumbering pine cones are sucked under so fast,
so fast.
I keep reciting the story in my head.
Over and over.
Angel tears, she said.
I'm not afraid of angels... or stories... or tears.

It's flooding. Streaming into my foyer. And here I am.