His desolate thoughts

Were taken by the wind

A husk, sat fiddling with thread

Picked from halcyon times

He looked out to the sea

It was raging

He wished himself that rage

But, instead, calmly sat fiddling with…

The thread had gone

He took a sip of tea turned cold

And itched

Always the same itch 

The wind was gathering a storm

His old jacket eagerly billowing

But, his flat cap was the first to leave

It danced a joyful farewell 

To become grain for the hourglass 

His old jacket was next, 

Then his life-stained shirt

Followed by his trousers,

Skin, flesh, innards

His eyes, the portals to so much, 

Leaked a final tear

It began the rain.

The young boy stood outside a farmhouse 

His dirty vest & shorts dripping wet

But, the rain…

The rain felt so good.

The year was uncertain, 

But, then again,

Isn't everything in life?

 

Painting ©️ Brigitte Schweitzer