A cold, rainy August

Rain pelting the windshield,
a deafening roar of unanswered whispers,
a child ponders the questions
of a man much older than himself.

Outside, torrents spill over trees.
Thunder booms, slightly
illuminating the chaotic thrashings
of angry trees.

He lets in the rain
as if to wash away the pain
crying for nothing
but resolution.

He turns the engine,
but the low growl of his old truck
cannot hope
to pierce the cry of the heavens.

He begins to drive,
slowly,
for he has no destination
and all the time in the world.

After some time, somewhere
between nothing and infinity,
he recognizes his home.
Light pours from his kitchen window, inviting him.

But, the rain and darkness
seem to quench the light’s hunger
and it was then he realized
that the ground was far too wet to rekindle ancient flames.

He pounds angry fists against
his dashboard; blood begins
to flow amidst
raindrops and tears.

His front door creaks open,
the storm breaks,
but no solace is found;
the boy is drowning.

He can almost see
his mother, his father, his sister,
but locked doors and sealed windows
carry grim, unflinching determination.

A voice cries out to him
from somewhere beyond the
darkness, but the boy
sees naught; hears naught but the roar of utter blackness.

Dark wings beat about his head,
but the cry piercing through the darkness
grows until the young man forms a single word
through clenched teeth.

“...Grace...”

The boy reaches out to the only tangible object,
the only thing that may end his suffering.
The final resolution; a heartbeat frozen in time.

A resounding boom as another streetlight burns out,
and more blood pours freely.

It begins to rain.