She Is the Rain

She might as well talk for hours
for her voice soothes like April showers.
It deserves my admiration like a cool night’s rain on a tin roof,
easing me to rest, never having to undress,
never requesting love’s proof.
Who is she? I don’t know. Continue reading “She Is the Rain”


Our lives are the equivalent of
The spine of a paperback book

One day you’re published
Read page by page
Your story grows in detail
Full of laughter and tears
Upon which pages smear

The spine of a paperback book
Begins to crinkle
Paper folding and aging
As your pages are read
Every line of ink enjoyed
More than the last

Your very pages earmarked
Moments of laughter, of discovery
Your very pages tear marked
Moments of sorrow, of recovery

And as all stories
Come to an end
So does life
So do you
All that matters is if
The crinkling of paper
The turning of pages
Were worth reading
Every last word

You sit upon a shelf
Collecting dust and yellowing
Until your story is picked back up
And the spine of the paperback book
Begins to crinkle again