No friendly storm it came
In deepest dead of night:
A thousand angry light bulbs all at once,
And banging pots and pans
Like madman in a rage.
No gentle wash was this
For our blue thirsty planet,
Just a piss of rain
That sought to crack our roof tiles.
Take things from their places,
Drop the faithful to their knees
Giving thanks the lash falls elsewhere
Doing pain out there and, rightly,
Passing over us the chosen.
******************************************
The morning Ben died, I searched through all the drawers and everywhere, looking for any little scrap of paper, speaking to me and his other loved ones. Then a few weeks ago I found a loose leaf notebook just stuck in a drawer; there were around 50 poems he had written by hand in pen and ink. I am savoring them all and am so grateful to him that he left these (before unread by anyone) to us. I am sharing just a few with you. Love, annie
old7lady9blogger80@gmail.com
******************************************************
No comments:
Post a Comment