His desolate thoughts
Were taken by the wind
A husk, sat fiddling with thread
Picked from halcyon times
He looked out to the sea
It was raging
He wished himself that rage
But, instead, calmly sat fiddling with…
The thread had gone
He took a sip of tea turned cold
And itched
Always the same itch
The wind was gathering a storm
His old jacket eagerly billowing
But, his flat cap was the first to leave
It danced a joyful farewell
To become grain for the hourglass
His old jacket was next,
Then his life-stained shirt
Followed by his trousers,
Skin, flesh, innards
His eyes, the portals to so much,
Leaked a final tear
It began the rain.
The young boy stood outside a farmhouse
His dirty vest & shorts dripping wet
But, the rain…
The rain felt so good.
The year was uncertain,
But, then again,
Isn’t everything in life?
Painting ©️ Brigitte Schweitzer
