When the downpour ends, 
In the barren wilderness-like moors, 
The silence swells, fills the void, 
A hushed breath over drenched earth.


Pick up the internal slack, 
Bring about an emotional tension, 
Face the day, the prospects of oncoming ones.  
Emerge, soaked but whole.


Tears, the only external evidence, 
Of having lived a life.  
They fall, carving paths on skin, 
Existence ceases, if only for a moment.

The fresh after-rain, 
Brings a moist clarity, 
Fills in the cracks, 
Mends the broken places.


On the moors, the grass whispers, 
Soft secrets of rebirth.  
Each drop, a promise, 
Each tear, a renewal.


The horizon stretches, endless, 
Hope seeping into the soil.  
From the downpour's end, 
A new beginning, tender, fragile.


In the barren moors, 
Life whispers softly, 
In the language of rain, 
And the silence it leaves behind.