Just a Poem
The crowd is merely a distraction for the people around her. Her fingers curled around the stem of a half-empty glass as she pretends with the rest of them: pretends in ways she can’t adhere herself too. It’s all just a game to them, walking around with stretched smiles and simple phrases. The depth has been erased and in time she becomes bored with the party.
Soon she finds herself out in the rain. The rain is a funny thing; it drips in seasons and it collides with skin to pavement. A simple caress brought to stream down her cheek. The accumulation of its moisture weighs heavily inside the curve of her glass. Face upturned towards the tiny glitter each tear-sky holds in it‘s own glassy curves. Reflections of tiki-lights fight for survival in the waving torrent. Opened heels and filmy clothes soon become just the disguise: just a see-through garment of what lies back in the party.
A courtyard provides an embracing refuge from the simpletons that call her a friend. The use of that word is alien to them: friend is just another word for free employ. The rain provides a true friendship: one she has known for sometime. It comes with its drips and drops like the fingers of a mother’s nightmarish touch. Soothe away the nightmares and you just have the rain: detached from the lightening that flashes it’s excitement among the elements. A picture that holds a depth she can understand.
The rain. Ah yes, the rain. A lover once said to stand in it is to be loved by it: or something like it. Perhaps he meant something else: to stand in it is to be loved by him, a selfish cause to say the least. Many happy things are here with her now; ghosts, memories, fantasies, dreams, hope. Yes hope; she believes apart of every drop brings hope, love, true friends, and life. This is her distraction; silent hands moving to soak into her filmy disguises; trails of fingers tracing lines of hopeful tears into her eyes; arms detaching her from the simpleton’s embrace; a lover’s existence inside the rain.
A shadow in the lattice separations carries a stare into each other eyes. Someone else bored with the party? Perhaps he is just a curious spectator enjoying the scenery of the rain‘s silent movie. No words are spoken; nothing needs be said. They are kindred spirits here, finding their way back to each other. Have they always been there? He and she among the depth and detached from the others. Have they created their own party or is it another life? The rain has brought them and morning will bring them life again.
Soon she finds herself out in the rain. The rain is a funny thing; it drips in seasons and it collides with skin to pavement. A simple caress brought to stream down her cheek. The accumulation of its moisture weighs heavily inside the curve of her glass. Face upturned towards the tiny glitter each tear-sky holds in it‘s own glassy curves. Reflections of tiki-lights fight for survival in the waving torrent. Opened heels and filmy clothes soon become just the disguise: just a see-through garment of what lies back in the party.
A courtyard provides an embracing refuge from the simpletons that call her a friend. The use of that word is alien to them: friend is just another word for free employ. The rain provides a true friendship: one she has known for sometime. It comes with its drips and drops like the fingers of a mother’s nightmarish touch. Soothe away the nightmares and you just have the rain: detached from the lightening that flashes it’s excitement among the elements. A picture that holds a depth she can understand.
The rain. Ah yes, the rain. A lover once said to stand in it is to be loved by it: or something like it. Perhaps he meant something else: to stand in it is to be loved by him, a selfish cause to say the least. Many happy things are here with her now; ghosts, memories, fantasies, dreams, hope. Yes hope; she believes apart of every drop brings hope, love, true friends, and life. This is her distraction; silent hands moving to soak into her filmy disguises; trails of fingers tracing lines of hopeful tears into her eyes; arms detaching her from the simpleton’s embrace; a lover’s existence inside the rain.
A shadow in the lattice separations carries a stare into each other eyes. Someone else bored with the party? Perhaps he is just a curious spectator enjoying the scenery of the rain‘s silent movie. No words are spoken; nothing needs be said. They are kindred spirits here, finding their way back to each other. Have they always been there? He and she among the depth and detached from the others. Have they created their own party or is it another life? The rain has brought them and morning will bring them life again.