Rain Writing

Painted Roses

White-washed is the wicked world
On the day when the child, home from school,
Brings a sculpture, spidered clay,
Crooked and cracked and colored in blue.

Pushed aside is the petulant world
On the day when the dog and the cat sleep,
Curled together into a bowl of warmth,
Forgetting their usual territorial feud.

Glassed-over is the gruesome world
On the day when the tiny ballerina
Walks down the busy street, shoes in hand
And an oblivious smile upon her pink bow lips.

Bewitched is the broken-hearted world
On the day when the mouse falls in the paint
And scurries through the yard,
Leaving behind footprints on fallen rose petals.

The Jester

Five-tipped hat trembles, jingles
As the Jester madly dances.
Stupidly, pathetically,
Maddeningly he prances.

Painted face so cold, so white
With a twisted, graceless smile,
Pleads with us, who pay no mind
And laugh at him all the while.

He dances for our plain amusement
And dies inside as we taunt,
He grins and cries his silent plea
That some day will come to haunt.

We don’t care for love, emotion,
Nor for any kind of grace.
Entertainment do we demand
Of his white pain-painted face.

He dances madly, sadly, silent
Except for mournful jingle bells.
He pulls his face and claws his hair
And festers in his private hell.

Across the floor tramp his feet
In the little green-point shoes,
We laugh, uproarious and uncouth,
And still the Jester do abuse.

He dances for our plain amusement,
Dying, crying, silent, sweet.
His heart is tattered as we chatter
And laugh at pathetic sight complete.

He tiptoes on his green-point toes,
And dances gravely as he dies.
His countenance falls and I find
That he was not the fool, but I.

River

They dragged the river last night,
Finding too many broken hearts,
Too many lost souls,
Too many lonely ghosts
Trapped under river rocks.
They all jumped
From the docks
Or from the bridge not far away.
The ones rejected by secret loves,
The ones dejected
And left alone,
The ones battered
And shattered
And left to die
In some form or fashion,
Whether it be their heart,
Soul, mind, or broken body.
They dragged the river last night,
The cold grey water as miserable
As its cold grey victims.
Too many broken hearts,
Too many lost souls,
Too many lonely ghosts,
The rejected, the unloved,
The neglected.
Too many wanderers without hope
Who drowned their sorrows for lack of rope.
Too many, all now gone for good.
Those never loved
As much as they should.
They dragged the river last night.
Too many were found who lost the fight,
Who fell in their flight,
Who died in their plight.
Too many broken hearts, lost souls.
Let free the lonely ghosts
Found beneath rocks,
Who jumped from the docks
And drowned their sorrows
For lack of love.

Rise And Fly

If my soul should rise and fly,
You would follow me and find me.
If I should wander far and wide,
Your strong right hand would guide me.
If my heart should lead me astray,
Back on the road you’d put me.
If I should trip and fall away,
You would be there to catch me.

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

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Rain Writing

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