PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

and when I have heard the rain

I am remembering these things

but brokenly

like sharded glass

or water under wind

images that will not

piece together

truly



languages unspoken

images unthought



and when I have heard the rain

I am remembering these things

as if in the drumming on the tin

there is a chant to bring

the dead to life, like moths driven to the ground,

with tattered, threadbare wings



The mark is on the door

although I have made no sign;

I am just remembering

what emptiness yet clings

and what these dark and dreadful

whispering winter rains

can bring



languages unspoken

images unthought



…then the knock not

upon the door…..