Spattering Bemusement

by P.R.Banks

Wind and rain lash the window pane,
as combined they strike again and again.
And I watch the drops fall one by one,
into rivulets of water - carefully spun.
So I become bemused by it all.

And I treasure a simple pleasure as this,
as I contemplate infinity in simple bliss.
For are not our lives like the rain?
And I wonder what of me will remain,
once my drop has done it's fall.

For who do I share with this memory,
of lives and rain being ephemerae?
And try as I might to figure who,
my reasoning fails - leaves no clue,
of who would be interested.

I feel like a dormant bud nearing spring,
almost, yet not quite, ready for flowering.
But this nascent flower is on it's own,
trying carefully to face the unknown.
So I wait for events to transpire.

With a sudden shift the spell is broken,
and I'm back staring at rain in the open.
Perhaps the next time a like moment occurs,
I'll know who to tell what stirs,
in the grey rain that is my private universe.

Philip R. Banks
Send Email

Return to the Garden
Return to the Fortress Entrance