Yesterday, burgeoning in the meadow
white blossoms on greening branches
birdsong at daybreak
Earth spinning in its orbit
distractions from pain and passing time,
regrets and remembrance of loss.
Today, reading under grey skies
she saw the lines--
“Bowed down she was with weariness”
a distant train whistle
a church bell chiming
lobster boats setting out to raise the traps
all like arrows piercing through
my small morning pleasures.
By the sea she is, but it's raining.
“drizzle” she calls it.
I like the sound of the words
“drizzle,“ "plaintive, “mournful”
Once she believed “there would be time enough"
“tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.”
Was it all for naught?
It must be the pain.
If not for its darkness--
the brighter light of reason
But the window of perception is clear.
She see through—
The arrows hit their mark.
It was all for naught.
Bowed down she is with weariness.
Prometheus chained, and sh too--
bound to a rock of my own making
blossoms, falling rain
church bells and lobster traps
mournful memories
Tide rushing in
caught in the torrent
deluge to drown in
Then, from the bell tower—seven chimes
The rain has stopped
No bird sing
Earth still spinning in its orbit
Where will I lay my head?
Where will I leave my heart?
What will I leave behind?
Where will I row my little boat lost in the darkness?
Another Version:
To the Lighthouse?
Yesterday—spring burgeoning at the window
white blossoms, greening branches
birdsong at daybreak
Earth spinning in its orbit
distractions from pain and passing time,
realizations, regrets, remembrance of loss
Sounds like arrows piercing through the morning’s
small pleasures
distant train whistle, church bell chiming
lobster boats setting out to raise the traps
By the sea she is, but it’s raining
“drizzle” she called it
She likes the sound of the words, “drizzle”
“plaintive” and “mournful”
Once she believed there would be time enough—
“tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow”
Did it all come to naught?
It must be the pain
If not for its darkness, the brighter light of reason
Just now the window of perception is wiped clean
It was all for naught
Bowed down as she was with weariness
Prometheus chained to a rock, and she too
tide rushing in—caught in a torrent
a deluge to drown in
falling rain, blossoms, lobster traps
and mournful memories
From the bell tower—seven chimes
Silence now
The rain has stopped and no bird sing
Earth still spinning in its orbit
Who should complain?
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