Bladed Poem by Mylah Ferrer

The rain falls softly on my shoulders silently pleading...
Dear heart, when will your suffering end?
Stop and listenas the skies cry out for your throbbing ache
As the hands of time lashes again,
And again at each wound like blades as sharp as a thousand knives.
Each pit-pat on the pavement quietly beckons,
Shh.. dear heart, listen to the merciful rhythm of the falling rain.
It tells of tales of loves long gone.
Some not quite and some in steadfast strength of a frenzied gale.
Yet each leaves an ever present scar
Of struggles won and lost, of wisdom gained and sacrifice worn.
Like a trophy in shining splendor,
A love nurtured in million cuts of blades, a love that withstands all tests
Of time and space, is the love like no other.