The Cleansing of the Rain

A cloud slowly floating along,
With a promising chance of rain.
Finally.
Finally, a chance for all the old to wash away,
And the new to grow in its place.

The rain begins.
A drop here.
A drop there.
Then all at once it pours.
The land around is finally getting cleansed.

I stand out in the rain,
Feeling the drops hit my head,
And run their cool path down my face,
Only to mix paths with my hot salty tears.

Yet, as the rain runs down me,
My heart remains heavy,
Still caked with the old.
Something is there . . .
That I cannot let go of . . .
But what?

I stand in the rain waiting to be cleansed,
But when I open my eyes,
The new is already beginning to grow,
While I’m still stuck within the old.