this marble bench

so old, ever so cold,

is densely crowded

with the pastiche

of broken memories

that claw each other

for all of them

do not fit on this

so old, ever so cold

little marble bench

in this struggle

of fitting together

they finally morph

into a lonely ghost

of a young lass, look!

oh look at her eyes!

so empty yet full

of tears 'n' loss

her stare follows

the dirt scattered

all the way down

her memory lane

oh and amidst this

cloud of risin' dust

she sees a silhouette

of a small happy girl

dancin' in the rain

with her frail arms

spread out as wings

of a songbird, look!

isn't she a passerine?

for she's ordinary

like half of all the

simple bird species

look...so isn't she?

but can you hear

the ring in her laugh,

the splash of water

in the rain puddles,

the pitter patter,

pitter patter,

of heavenly drops

and that harmonious

tinkle of her anklets

oh can you hear it?

and can you see

the soft iridescence;

the rainbowlike play

of colors in raindrops

as they trickle down

her porcelain neck

fallin' down the ends

of her golden ringlets

and look at her skirt

that's all soaked up

but swirls nonetheless

in a mirage of dreams

as a phantasmagoria

oh can you see it?

you can't but it does

that lonely ghost of

a young lass with eyes

oh so empty yet full

of tears and low loss

can see it all, see it all

so it gets up and tries

to walk over to her

and embrace it all

the soft silhouette of

a small happy girl

dancing in the rain

what a hallucination!

oh how they melt

in the haunting arms

of the cycle of time

like a shimmerin' liquid

until their astray souls

are absolutely nothin'

but forgotten raindrops

lying in dirty puddles

from which, the water

travels to the edge of

this marble bench

so old, ever so cold,

and densely crowded

with the pastiche

of broken memories

. . . . . . . . once again.

Author's Note