Wild fire kisses the first rain drop
With the wind for the moonlight
Of ashes waving their final goodbye
As the rainy day comes for their welcome
Flames throw a great pas de deux
With the touch lingering in the heart
Of the prisoners of the dark
Praying for a savior in the light
This is the rainy day
To quench the thirst
To brighten the way
For those lost and dried
Out of ropes to climb
And hopes or smiles
Memories flash for the person leaving the room on the East Wing
Clutching the ends of the last string connecting A to B
Of spaces and stories, of friends, lovers, and miseries
Looking for the perfect rhyme, opening the door to a great line
Praying for the light to come and stop the flight
Of feelings, pains, and all the lightness of being
‘Coz the trip home is the last stop for the best poem
That captures the heart, the essence, the dreams sighed out
Of the missed role of the poet, dying, lying, moving the last roll
That intertwines the paths of the living and the ones leaving
“I want to see a rainbow,” Abie said.
“Alright, tomorrow,” Mom answered while she was in bed.
“No! I want to see it today,” the young girl insisted.
“Don’t do this darling. Mommy can’t walk you there today. Tomorrow instead.”
“Why? You never keep your promise,” Abie ran out the door.
“Tomorrow.”
The lines went flat that night. It was the yesterday and today at midnight.
Abie woke up, smiled, and walked out the room.
“It’s beautiful!”
Dad came rushing out with red swollen eyes.
“Wh…What are you doing here?” clearing his throat in between.
“Mommy kept her promise. I saw the rainbow, Dad.”
