My tired fingers clutch this pen loosely
it is poised
awaiting the music to flow through my veins,
profound and lofty lyrics
that I hope will blow away
don’t aim to please
or attempt to make sense
only seek to do justice.
There is no breeze, but I can feel the air.
I can’t grasp it to show you
but I want you to see how real it is,
as real as this rain drop
fallen from unfathomable heights,
it smears these words.
Words so simple, so easy to say
only their weight pushes me down.
I’m afraid to say.
I love this rain –
I have always loved the rain.
I remember the rainy day,
so very distinctly still
those large pattering drops turning into sheets of water
gushing forth from the skies torn apart,
they washed the grime of burdens past.
No burdens now – so why the rain?
I only see the lingering freshness
These words dictate the pen.
Words that crawl, then run, then simply fall, unhindered, like this rain
we patiently wait for the ramblings to end
they distract only momentarily.
How do I forget what needs be said
There, that breeze!
Do you feel it now?
If you stare awhile, look intently
you’ll see those branches sway ever so slightly now.
This pen is still poised,
its patience is unbeknownst, even to me.
These words – they will come.
