Rain in a Tin Cup
Rain in a Tin Cup
With the dawn,
the tin rain wakes me
once again.
Flashes of light
that I count on my fingers
like the spindles of the
headboard that held me
tight against the night.
Shaking off sleep
like star dust ash
which falls collecting
at my feet,
I move through the perfect relic of
this life
as the void closes
behind me and covers the remnants of
what I used to be.
Sunlight oozes past the open window
sealing the cracks
with its yellow honey.
Water pours over me,
washing me clean
until
my bones are bare and
they slowly dissolve.
I am nothing.
Slowly the white noise of
the rain and the
eerie call of a loon
from across Shadow Lake
filters in.
Turning away
I am but
water in a jar that
was broken,
just rain
in a tin cup.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.