Rain and tears

It was as if the rain in sympathy
did fall in sodden sorrow on my skin,
as if to offer comfort, liquid touch,
for all the tears still locked within.
Could coursing drops from heaven,
heal the pain which was denied,
and offer itself up as damp release,
or does our heart demand that we do cry?
Can heaven's act as symbol be enough,
to loosen at the girdle of our grief,
and wash away the knotted, silken cords
which hold us to the shape of our beliefs?
Perhaps in form archetypal can we find,
releasing of material and flesh,
in ways we could not otherwise imagine;
in ways which angels whisper in our heads.