The Performer

The Performer

Audre Lorde

I write for those women who do not speak, for those who do not have a voice because they were so terrified, because we are taught to respect fear more than ourselves. We've been taught that silence would save us, but it won't.


Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Rain drops

On my window, I stand gazing,
At the splashing drops of rain,
My eyes follow the fast streams of rain water,
Every splash brings with it memories,

A flash of childhood play,
When my bare feet splattered in the rain,
With delight of innocence,

Another flash,
Of my grown up life,
Every splatter feels like a stab,
The running streams of brown water,
Seems like blood in my veins,
And the pounding drops,
Like my racing heart,
Filled with melancholy
Of a time gone by,
And of a love lost,

I stretch my hand to touch the rain drops,
Wishing they could wash the hurt away,
For a moment, I feel like a soaring butterfly,
Flapping its wings in the splattering drops,

Then I gaze back to the room,
And the emptiness and loneliness,
Come rushing like a flood,
I try to recall all the good time,
Spent in the room now filled with emptiness.

K8's O

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