In the rain, there comes a point
Where once all that was clearly seen
A picture of perfect clarity
Where all the colors blend and fade
The lines, the curves, so barely there
That I don't know what I do see
That I'm not sure of what I did
Time is a painter of memories
Untiring and perpetually unfinished
The harder it rains, the longer I go
Without that original image, I
Am left with beauty in ambiguity
Where good and evil have come together
Where I am left with the aftermath
Of here and now, of you and me
A storm has come between us two
But somehow, I can see you there
Drenched in rain, but still you are
The someone I once knew; and though
I can't say, when the sun returns
How clear you really are to me
There's yet within you that perfection
So untouchable in my mind
YOU ARE READING
martyrdom
Poetrylittle trinkets that hit you right on that spot in your heart, the one that you thought was closed off, but is actually the source of what? of e...
