Looking at my Rain Spattered Window

3 Comments

  • iLuvPoetryJACOB
  • Poetry will always emerge out of the shadows of depression, shining like a star in the scarcity of light.

Looking at my Rain Spattered Window



Cold mist hugging transparent glass,

icy drops of water leaving prominent trails of their footsteps

as they descend down my bedroom window.

They swerve this way and that, perhaps panicking

about the steepness of the descent.

I see your fingerprints on the glass, slowly dissipating

because the rain clouds spit drops of water at them,

trying to conceal their shape before I see them.

I take it as mockery of me, that I could seem so stupid as to believe

that those marks from your hands could be just ordinary smudges on the glass.

And I look again. Two entire prints of those soft, warm hands that used to hold mine.

The raindrops could not touch these;

They formed an ellipse around your handprints, trying to touch them, to destroy them,

but the promise of that treat evades those menacing raindrops.

And I cry, for in some ways you are still here, trying to reach me.

The tears of joyful sadness burn on my cheeks, redden my eyes, rattle my shoulders

as I watch your soul caress my rain spattered window.

 

—April. 10, 2010

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FadingFebruary commented on Looking at my Rain Spattered Window

06-19-2010

Thanks for commenting on my poems! I really appreciate the feedback and the fact that someone likes it! I absolutely adore the imagery and word choice in this piece. Right from the first line it captivated me and put me right there. I've only been on this site for a few months, but this is honestly one of my favorites I've read so far!

iLuvPoetryJACOB

06/19/2010

No problem, I really do love reading your poems. And thank you so much, I love the feedback, and I'm glad you liked it! --Natalie.

Teardrops commented on Looking at my Rain Spattered Window

06-12-2010

My friend in pain, I hope you know he will always be with you . Love the poem the flow and its well written thanks Marie

iLuvPoetryJACOB

06/12/2010

thank you so much i really appreciate it. --Natalie.

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

iLuvPoetryJACOB’s Poems (51)

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Looking at my Rain Spattered Window 3
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