Poetic Essences
After Rain
It’s not the same.
On the coast, it looks the most
The stairway to the sea
Don’t trip or slip or falter
The wind blows wild and free.
After the rain, it’s not the same.
The leaves wilt on the trees.
Weighed down by rain droplets
As if brought to their knees.
The wind in April is keener.
Autumn is in the breeze.
Inches from the winter’s song
And the long night freeze.
Seasons come, and seasons go.
Marked the time of my existence
Reaching up into the sky
Interminable distance.
Existential anxiety
Cupped in the hands of few
The habits of a nation
And the fear of something new.
Eons of inequality
Fall-like autumn leaves
Stilted by the standards
Marred by old beliefs.
And the cost of the impost
Ages of the sages and mortal men
Oriental weaknesses
Then transformed into Zen.
Telling yarns in empty barns
The echoes swell in time
While I strum and hum
Music, I write in rhyme.
Dew disappears in daylight
Rainclouds darken the sky
The days transformed into diamonds
As nights move slowly by the by.
©
David Rudder
April 2022
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