The job is done,
there is a light ahead,
a bit of peace,
planning for a soft landing
the harsh reality of this
reason
our own examined purpose
seems less imperative
Watching the rains today
falling forever
a reminder of a constant
unlike the streaking sunlight
of a gorgeous spring day,
rains are fallible
they leave a mark,
a damp reminder
of what is what may be
what the afterward might see.
Could it be so simple
as watching a spring storm
cover the earth around us
allowing life to grow
when inside
the mind seems to seek
any obstacle to suggest
our lives that matter
are lives of little …
or is it part of some
chemical imbalance
like the heads say,
a reasoning that could be
a wild hair
rather than a logical
synapse that suggests
the true meaning of perfection
is
a quiet response
to the mystique we know to be
the human condition
