Was wetted by a different kind of rain
when I turned twenty three;
though wind driven sideways angle to it,
it fell straight down on me.
Soaked as I was, I soon realized
eight thousand sunrises had shone on me.
Before that year the facts are murky.
Forgotten or been struck blind
by tables topped with fresh poured drinks;
fear of what I might find.
Fear that what I think I have now
is the same as what I left behind.
Empowered now, too late, with bifocal logic,
that sees right through sunshine or cloudpain,
I am no longer impressed by weather’s mood,
do not respect it as I should.
Each past day gets twice replayed again,
just with a different kind of rain.
I thought with time I would not drink alone,
I thought I would not somehow fail to see.
Forgot to wind the proper clock and now
fifty thousand suns have shone on me.
-
Author:
Dan Williams (
Offline) - Published: September 17th, 2024 00:44
- Comment from author about the poem: This damn old age thing just insists itself on you. Still waiting on the promised Golden Years.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 23
Offline)
Comments4
At least you have seen teh sunrises as I have, each new day in our lives is a blessing Dan.
Andy
Waiting for those golden years you haven't heard we are off the gold standard its all federal reserve notes not worth the paper they are printed on. Loved the write and have felt some of the same feelings.
A fine write, Dan. Really enjoyed this.
Though written in a painful and yearning tone, this is a beautiful write about the passage of time Dan.
Also, using the sun as a somewhat happy constant, sure adds to the warmth of the piece.
Bravo, and I hope that all is well.
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