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A LIGHT RAINFALL. A SUNDAY.

May 13, 2018

A light rainfall, morning,

A Sunday.

No plans,

Not for want of trying.

 

So I sit, reflect,

Where was I?

How did I finish here?

Here, where we all end up.

 

The melting pot of home,

A Spaniard.

But not quite,

This is a new home.

 

There’s music in every room,

In every bar.

I once knew it,

This is a past a past pastime.

 

She’s petite, a guitarist,

She plays like magic.

I remember our meeting,

In a strange, dark place.

 

But then, there are guitarists all round,

But her music: something else.

In another time it could have been fate,

But now it’s, of course, past.

 

All feels as though it’s past,

All is regrets.

For bad timing, etc,

I’ve lost a world here.

 

I’ve gained something cherished,

Second hand books, clothes.

I live in paradise,

Musicians at every turn.

 

But few are dear,

Have touched my heart.

I’ve moved some,

Invisibly.

 

I’m invisible here,

I lurk in dark corners.

With cobwebs and all,

Spiders all round.

 

I see spirits,

I dream of what’s lost.

The future comes fast,

One day, I’ll be gone.

 

This I know: I’m gone,

They were desperate.

They knew me,

No more.

 

A poor excuse,

A false promise.

Next week, okay?

It’s Sunday ….

 

Time stands still,

All’s a bore.

But there’s music ….

Always, music ….

 

I broke his heart,

He needed to let go.

He couldn’t ….

Calls, and calls ….

 

I disappeared. I’m invisible,

They wouldn’t know.

There’s no difference,

Life’s slow.

 

A pen scratches paper,

A typewriter sounds.

A computer taps,

All is rhythmic.

 

Fewer and fewer words,

Few comes to nothing.

To nought,

To none.

 

All’s fair here,

Fair maidens.

Fringed maidens,

Impeccable dresses.

 

And we near an abyss,

There are no girls here.

There is no one,

I live in this abyss.

 

It’s a punishment,

Here’s my penance.

A softly whispered word,

Was it a phantom?

 

I turn all round,

I see no one.

Ghostly words,

Go far’ ….

 

Come near,

She smiles. Makes no move.

I smile. She’s in the way,

She knows this well.

 

A dragon, Chinese,

Painted on the pavement.

We say prayers here,

It’s a sacred place.

 

Well well well. Look who’s here,

The thief, praying hard.

It’s all too late for him,

God doesn’t listen.

 

Far off, he hears nothing,

This is his realm, betrayed.

We had paradise,

We gave it up for lust.

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