Young Writers Society

Companions in Rain

He thinks, ‘So this too, side by side,’

Or at least at-a-breast or against,
Not a death to be counted alone,
With the hope of the hopeless,
Only need.

This is the colour of burning wine and rain,
If only to turn back the great wheel
That rolls over time.

A spangle of light on the glass
From the approaching candle,
And twisted off metaphors
That lead on through the trail.
To be fortified by earth,
To be swallowed by day,
And those women are singing
Like water down the pane.

She thinks, ‘I won’t be his statue,
I must go away.’

The rhythm of life has fallen so slow,
And been beaten to dust,
See, even stones are coming to dust.
Side by side passions looked up to the sky,
But hey can’t you see
Who you made angry with that?
That righteousness that you’ve not quite outgrown,
It still spills your blood on the floor.
He says, “Weren’t we innocent and stupid back then,
Didn’t we know, we couldn’t change a thing?”
She says, “I don’t know, but maybe they still can.”

So this too, side by side,
To be torn asunder there,
Or be combined and combust,
But side by side, what ever does come down.
This is like a court dance,
With relatives and poison,
But at least it’s not that apathy
That seeps ink spots off the page.

It smells like damp, and it smells like smoke,
But it’s not quite old,
So we can’t quite count on no hope,
And what ever comes down with the rain and the ash
Will be too grand to be overthrown,
And with all your upward noble gaze,
Your feet may get mired in hidden graves.
The green is the green in the hazy evening,
The road curves around
Where the memories are buried,
And the breath of ghosts has not yet been stilled,
So come down before us,
And whether side by side
Or back against back
Whether dark or light,
We shall not be counted alone.

He said, “I can’t pick my words off the trees,
Or out of the crack on the floor.”

There is sunlight and shadow on the lines
And the windows and corners and halls,
But why can’t you see you’ve been walking in circles,
Where is the conviction of youth?

She says, “when did we all become so unsure,
I was sure I knew before?”

And he thinks, ‘I don’t remember ever knowing,’
But doesn’t answer,
Let’s the white walls answer for him.
Because both of them, too, will become only dust.

And she will be the willow,
And he will be the swan,
And she will stand still
While he follows the tide of years,
And he will be the beauty,
And she will be the scenery,
Just so they can change places,
And both can be re-aquatinted with air.

So she tells him as they walkout the door,
Just so she’ll have to come back,
“I suppose, this too, side by side?”

Tomorrow he might answer,
“Of only this I am sure,”
Or he might not,
Because she and the walls like it that way.

*please let me know what you thought of it.