A poem of a of interrelated objects, and what they seem to mean |
Time Slips Away Only To Gain A Better Grip The rain makes one think of all the smells and wonders that it brings It carries with it our memories of all the places we were in the past The sounds of the drops, the sounds of the wind that bring with it the backdrop of thoughts of places we think about when we are now silent, and only stir, when our thoughts get too quiet. We remember when, and never much the how or why Maybe at a guard post in some distant foreign land Perhaps just being next door, with a soaking wet cap on that makes us think just how vulnerable we are just as the rain is to what it touches, and seems to pound down on relentlessly. Our quest for meaning of these deep intellectual thoughts of "I think therefore I am", or maybe just how do I get to this point in life. We phase out of our reluctance to feel anything but this moment of smells and wonders This is our moment of being comtemplative we tell ourselves. But what we really see is our thoughts of yesterday And what of yesterday, when we were out to save the world from ourselves, to be only what we can be, in being what we thought was being true as to being true, we notice our thoughts of are younger truths really had purpose, but our thoughts are like feelings, and the rain feels of anticipation Only to bring us in our random thought of yesterday Our grip of reality is always like the dampness that feels cool to the touch, but never a really far away memory. As time goes by all those faces and places seem to intertwine, leaving us only with a racing mind When it is all said and done I believe all our reflections are just pieces of ourselves that are now us. |