storm and bones

by May 10, 2009 0 comments

big old house with blistered paint,
silent living room full of pictures,
I sit in the rocking chair and rock
back and forth, back and forth,

the sound of the family clock
humming silently in the stillness
and I drink quietly the red wine
tilting back and forth, back and…

old bones against wood,
creaking and squeaking

outside in the dusty back yard
there is the ancient cherry-tree
that stood against the ages and
the axes of my forefathers

suddenly I hear some other noises
and I take a look through the window,
one dark and hairy cloud is crawling
upon the untouched evening sky

and there is the lightening splitting
my paradise regained,
followed by the thunder muffling
the beats of my rusty heart

perfect moment, perfect hour-
the angry fist of the unmerciful storm
hits angrily the green grass outside and
I feel it in my wrinkling body –

old bones against the wind,
creaking and squeaking

O, Tempora!-
the branches of the tree are dancing
among the solitude of the passing time,
one perfect storm which shows me that
our world was created not for us

I think now
that this is the perfect time for someone to die,
no music, no dancing, no laughter,
just the boiling storm and
just this old clock going-
tic toc,

tic toc

tic…

let me be.

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