Sometimes it doesn't rain. 
It pours. 

She sits and waits for her to arrive.
Spinning her only penny on the rubber 
crumbed table. 
There's a break in the clouds.  The sun is there. But it is not to be seen, not yet. 

Time has stopped.  It's just me. No more nightmare. Tremors or fears. 

Sometimes it doesn't rain. 
It pours. 

She would never have thought that what seemed the bravest thing would be the most damaging. 

She waits for a warrior, a queen to take control. 
To out the baddies and fight. 
In that moment, spinning her penny, time stopped. 

I had no idea that this was the beginning of the real storm. 

She felt free.  Nothing reigned over me. 
You could smell the summer, the grass, hear laughter, 
and feel this wary calm. 

Little did she know, that would be my first taste
and my last.  Freedom always hidden. 
Monsoon rain blurring the focus. 

The heart of a child begins pure. But 
Sometimes it doesn't rain it pours.