May the Rain Cleanse the Pain

Life, write vague, one page at a time
Shape your mask carefully but quick
To expose your nude soul is a crime
Drink your sorrow, though it makes you sick

Expect the worst, hope for the best
Pray for your wants, work for your needs
Life's as much a game as a test
Nurture your hope: it's a good deed

Whistling an unknown pretty tune
To dull the monotony of the day
Both death and life come too soon
And you can neither hide nor run away

On the mountain you must summit
You can't in one bound reach the peak
And halfway up you can't just quit
'Though you may choose to freeze for weeks

Everyone tries to conceal their crimes
Done unto themselves throughout the hours
Portraying their sadness as if they are mimes:
Never speaking; only crying in their showers

Rarely ourselves we see or spy
And then, only in water-filled holes
So we act out life through others' eyes
Worn thin, our masks reveal our skulls

Off the path we often stray
To show we, alone, on life have hold
Shaped by sand, we were born as clay
Life's giant hands, us, form and mold

Our hardness comes not from the sun's bliss:
Upon us, dry, rough hands our moisture drains
Only to inflame the festered rawness;
Continue rubbing away our gritty grains

Rough, soiled hands leave us dirty and dry
Entrenched with cracks and bloody stains
So, facing the zenith, we all cry:
"May the rain cleanse our pains!"