It's raining outside, countless little reflections.
Vintage mirrors everywhere, desilvered with time,
beautiful but useless.
Who hears the rustling of the oak leaves? Not I,
and I am not alone.
It's raining outside, raining on my mirrors.
Tears of memories, even good ones,
rinsing, refreshing the eyes,
make it hard to see,
and I am not alone.
It's raining outside, raining on the world.
The first drops on the asphalt make me nauseous.
I know what's flowing into rivers besides water.
I am part of that, and it makes me nauseous.
But I am not alone.
It's raining outside, but I want no shelter.
The memories, even the sad ones, beclouding.
We may miss what made us sad, or we may not mind.
But they are all part of us, shaping perspective, and faith
that we are not alone.
------------Photo 1: The Rain, found at kaiscorpyscorpoinz
Photo 2: Author unknown
2 comments:
Well...I think Rabbit Hill is home to the poets; those stored away on our shelves, dusty but ever so alive, and the two burgeoning souls living their lives together, NOT ALONE...this is brilliant my love, just brilliant. We are growing older in body, but so young in soul. Hallelujah. Moi
Dear Ruben
I am moved beyond words.. Just beautiful!!!
Post a Comment