She travels through the rain,
on a blackened road without an end.
The droplets fall sweetly,
reflecting the ebony of every surrounding.
Thoughts pass.
The sun rises and sets, crescendos to a zenith
through the rain.
Days go on.
Filthy, smudged sneakers press with each footfall.
She is walking an immortal, teenage road
believing the cement can never stop.
The raging storm is a comforting hand on her back;
it is wild, untamed, it's fury nameless.
Even the storm will eventually pass.
She knows it will, and is serene.
Her homeland lay infinite miles behind,
a feeble thought shoved away by determined strength.
She won't think of mother,
or father's fist that put her in her place.
She'll forget the alcohol and the smoke.
Her sneakers press on.
Rocks in her path are a semblance of everything --
jagged, unpredictable, painful.
But not the storm.
She knows it, feels it, dreams of what it could do.
The immortal road hesitates before a streetlight.
She pauses,
and droplets fall.