A swift movement of his arm gives

The writer another quick swig

Of Gin as the colors from the

Television roll over

His face.

The power button on the remote creates the

Darkness as the writer moves his

Blood-shot eyes to the light patter

Of raindrops on the dusty cracked

Window pane.

His mind opens to realization upon the fact

That each drop is a part of his life

And he lumbers outside

Only to fall at his

Knees and weep in

The rain;

The tears of the

Angels.