Roses in the Rain
the baby’s
eyes
were blue
at birth
but the world
would only see
surface brown
dark
like wet bark
but blue eyes saw
so much
too much
all the good
all the bad
and all the rest
the absorption
of day and night
all the seasons
wrapped in one
and it’s hard
to pick a flower
now
knowing it’ll
die
the moment
you do
a market-full
to choose
same as fruit
that wilts within
and the worst things
happen
to ordinary people
to extraordinary people
but so too
the greatest things
and these things
pay no mind
to time
like that Dicken’s line
in a Tale of Two Cities …
“it was the best of times,
it was the worst of times …”
the world stills
in sorrow
for the sufferer
but keeps spinning
for the oblivious
‘til it’s your
turn
‘til it’s you
in the mirror
you on the floor
whether suffering comes early
or late
or somewhere down the middle
it’ll unfold
without favor
making the memory
that much greater
of what it was
before …
of what it was
after …
TL