Reflection

The constant repetition of life, just like rain. It evaporates, forms around a nasty dust particle (condense), fall, and repeat the process. One moment happy, next moment disappearing, then making headway, only to end up right back where they began.

My face in the shattered tears of clouds
one after another crashing at my feet.
I am in their confidence, reading their brows,
As they pour forth a pain often unseen.

This heartfelt emotion exposes my soul,
Seeing them so entirely fragmented,
No longer, as if ever, sunny and whole.
Which do you prefer? Does sorrow leave you disgusted?

Distant cotton wafts, or intimate displays of storm?
Which do you find more touching,
The depth of thundering emotion, or a mutely soft bore?
An angry, overcast mist his passion proclaiming,

Or meaningless whispers as they drift through the day?
I change as the rain, rising through the atmosphere -
A lover revealing secrets inner chambers have hidden away,
Or a dew evaporating and disappearing into the air -

They have fallen - thin, lost, and transparent.
Quite nearly I transform, become as one of them,
I see myself reflected in their form translucent,
as they break across my fingertips and skirt's hem.

And as they kiss me face, and my countenance they cross.
I feel a pleasantly cool, flowing absorption
Where they splintered into tiny drops.
A tranquilly deceptive start, an inevitably flawed formation.

Their end as crystal as they, perhaps mirroring my own,
In lightning's flash their fragility discovered,
Realizing that eternity is their home.
Lonely peace so imperfectly constructed,

An imperfect present to fallen comradeship;
fallen comradeship to the sudden revelation,
That this is an eternally infinite rift
Of rising and collapsing from station to station.

That they climbed the treacherous mountain
Only to return humble and meek.
Discovering that they descended that rocky fountain,
To retrace the arduous ascension of its peak.

Author's Note

Rough...very rough, I was 15yrs when I wrote it...I do love the rain...the comparison to life - storms, trial that cleanses, renews...floods, disaster...I can see the parallels so easily.

Hmm...suggestions of polishing it up? Less rough? More form, perhaps?

Reviews

[Sydelle Houston]

Sometimes you have to toss conventional form to the wind and write what you feel. I think it's fine as it is, but I'm not a writer of poems. I do know a good one when I read one and this one is good. You wrote this when you was 15? So much talent at such a young age! Keep it coming!