When the last teardrop falls

Somewhere, sometime that one drop will fall.
In weight and measure sufficient
to tip the long held balance.

Oh, to be the one, lone angel charged with holding it back.
All these years getting along, getting by,
making the rounds on eternity’s beat
you and an old dog shuffling along at your heels.
Even an immortal winces and chafes
under the burden of these old, earth-bound blues
So many ages come and gone,
so many forgotten epics sung,
to have it all come down to the fall of a single tear.

The last angel, the only one home, 
hears the creak of the gate,
hears Fate’s heavy tread on the stairs,
hears the click of the latch, 
wishes she could fly away,
but knowing, here and there are all one,
ain’t omniscience a kick in the ass,
watches the tear well up, swell, poise to fall,
wondering at the sheer weight of this single drop, 
a superdense gem at the end of a long-forged chain.

Ag, she eases the pain in her back
works the crick out of her neck.
The hell of it is, she thinks, 
where’s an angel to run
when the waters rise?
She laughs, 
“Get it?” she asks,
“Gots wings
but nowhere to fly.”
Divine irony, she decides, and turns her face to the sun
one last time.