At Midnight, In the Rain

At midnight, the world breathes slow and deep,

The sky unwraps its frozen sleep.

Rain whispers secrets none can hear,

While snow arrives like soft-spilled fear.

I watch it fall from darkened skies—

This gentle grief with no goodbyes.

I am the widow, hands held tight,

Still feeling where he slept each night.

The rain recalls the vows once said,

The snow, the silence of our bed.

Each droplet sounds like his return—

But leaves me cold, and still, and burned.

I am the maid with sore, red skin,

The pail, the rag, the daily din.

But in this hush, my spirit climbs—

I dream of silks and ballroom chimes.

The snow could be a bridal veil,

The rain a prince upon the trail.

Though caged by class, I still believe

In stories only night can weave.

I am the mother, eyes grown wide,

Rocking warmth with arms that hide.

The snow might steal my child's breath,

The rain might speak of coming death.

But I will fight with every bone

To carve from storm a safer home.

I am the root, the shield, the flame—

And motherhood, my holy name.

I am the one who cannot stand,

The window now my only land.

The rain draws rivers down the glass,

Like veins that time has let me pass.

But in the snow, I see a flight—

Of worlds I paint with all my might.

Though still, my soul is never chained,

I move within where dreams remained.

I am the girl who sees no light,

My thoughts too numb, my chest too tight.

The snow feels thick upon my skin,

The rain reminds me what’s within.

I want to fade into the storm,

Forget the shape I used to form.

Yet even here, some small truth glows—

A raindrop lands. A heartbeat grows.

I am the artist, brushes still,

The canvas blank against my will.

The rain outside, a steady hum,

Invites the art that's yet to come.

I see the shadows, sharp and deep,

The untold tales the sleepers keep.

This midnight offers vibrant hue,

A masterpiece, both raw and new.

I am the scholar, book in hand,

Exploring lands I understand.

Each drop that falls, a thought profound,

On ancient wisdom, newly found.

The rain a rhythm, soft and low,

As pages turn and insights grow.

A quiet thirst for what is known,

A garden where all knowledge's sown.

I am the dreamer, soft and deep,

Whose secrets only shadows keep.

The rain just washes worries clean,

A silver silence, calm, serene.

I build new worlds behind my eyes,

Where every whispered hope can rise.

The snow a blanket, pure and vast,

For futures that will truly last.

I am all these women—worn and wise,

With midnight rain behind my eyes.

I stand alone, yet not apart,

A thousand lives within one heart.

The snow keeps falling, pure and deep.

The rain still sings. I do not sleep.

I watch the dark. I do not run.

A woman's night has just begun.