A Wrong Interpretation

The kind of rain she stands in

requires no umbrella; her job,

simply, to get soaked –

mine, to write about it.

The elements love her, love to know

that someone like her exists.

My pen loves her,

loves to know that a love

like that is worth existing.

The storm is her monologue;

the world spends its time wrongly

interpreting it, but she forgives it

enough to go on repeating.

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12 thoughts on “A Wrong Interpretation

  1. “The kind of rain she stands in

    requires no umbrella; her job,

    simply, to get soaked –

    mine, to write about it.”

    I’m so content when I can hear and capture this invisible sleeting-down gift of the soul. Yes. Of course. She goes on repeating. It’s our job to open our hearts to hear her in any way we can. Keep you pen and openness in the ready. 🙂

    Alice

    1. Oh, always! Thanks Alice. This poem was inspired by one of my favorite quotes: “Everything that needs to be said has been said, but since no one is listening, everything must be said again.” I don’t know why, but it makes me feel like there’s a purpose to my writing – however fleeting it may be 😉

      1. I’m astounded by how many things have already been tried, said, decided and learned from only to be forgotten. Perhaps I should start a “rant” list of them. 🙂

        Keep speaking up. Somebody has to do it. Thanks.
        Alice

Thoughts? I love those.

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