The rain is stealing my words.

The rain is stealing my words.
Where am I?
Now with nothing but a quiet soul.
Lost in the gardens, and the mud.
Sheltered barely by the canopies.
There's nothing much but woes.

Where are my friends and family?
In other gardens across the sea, the lakes, the trees.
I can not remember the times before the rain
Only when I am dreaming
Or in the silences of May.

The thunder does not bother me
I've grown used to its roar.
But I can not remember those times before the rain

Because when I do remember
Oh, it causes too much pain.
I've grown used to growing in desert, wind and storm
But oh, how great is this lonesomeness-
I miss my beloved evermore!

Don't ask me to remember
it's been raining far too long
and if I were to remember, like the purple hyacinth,
These roots would also rot.
These flowers would turn grey

Don't ask me to remember the time
before summer went away.

Global conflict has a way of bringing up memories from earlier in the pandemic. I know for me I try to forget some of what occured during those years. This process of forgetting or burying trauma is what inspired this poem. But along with this sort of amnesia…. And also now re-remembering …. My perception of life… And of the brevity and fragility and beauty of it all has changed too. How bout you?

Published by Silent Singer

The Silent Singer

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