Old
Rain is old.
It seems so
young and fresh
(in the spring)
angry and vibrant
(in the summer)
calm and mature
(in the fall)
but rain is old.
New water cannot exist.
Its all recycled
over
and over
and over
again.
And somehow, knowing
that the same rain
that wet the hair of
Cleopatra
Gwenhwyfar
Sacagawea
kisses my cheeks,
I feel young again
beneath the cold blanket
of my coming winter.















Devious Comments
Comments
that the same rain
that wet the hair of
Cleopatra
Gwenhwyfar
Sacagawea
kisses my cheeks,
I feel young again
-----
Beautifully written
--
Amru Salahuddien
I like it.
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations
The roots of the future run deep
i hope one day i'll be able to make magic with my words, the way you did with this piece...
--
Due to Economic Crisis, The Light at the End of the Tunnel has. Been. Turned. (Off.)
--
post-script
mere words can
transcend meaning
(what you think, and write, and say).
haiku becomes
a mantra becomes
the pattern for your day.
-praytell
good work
--
"so we fix our eyes not on what is seen,
but what is unseen.
for what is seen is temporary,
but what is unseen is eternal.'
' my future shall be better than my past"
--
"I don't know where your dog is, but I think it exploded."
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