The winds depict the words his lips never did,
In the heat of the day,
he’s forced to bathe in his own sweat.
The skies wept the tears his eyes refused to shed.
He seeks redemption with mixed results,
so he often finds remorse beset by regret.
The most durable harvest of life
and all its odds are in a fruitful harvest of memories.
The memories he cherishes most endure,
are the ones he never forgets.
As a sudden rush of air escapes his lungs with an audible "swoosh,"
that reshapes his chest,
Up into the midst of a sun’s stead
forming into a dark cloud’s silver thread.
On a sunny day,
A sharp northern wind danced across an azure sky and began to fret.
Then water cascaded down the clouds,
and then his cheeks,
And then mirrored the ancient skies,
So that he could clearly hear,quickly read then slowly re-red.
It was as great as the first day that creation
swirled and began.
The sound of his heartbeats echoed in his ears,
It was like the lament of a broken cello and the mournful wail of a brass violin,
Heard by a gentle weeping innocent Leviathan
In the depth of an unbound sea disturbed by unfathomed-strong dissenting winds.
This moment felt like a divine blessing composed from up above.
A celestial gift to a humble living anomaly from the Heavens.
A remarkable sun shower reminded him of his power,
of a monstrous, beautiful, yet small and strange, insane love.
The sun shines bright, but torrential rains fall down
On a rare sight, few have seen or stood,
where he was chosen,
where he was coincidentally found.
The raindrops danced on his face
and the pavement's heat,
Creating a symphony of his heart’s mild and mellow yet heavy beat.
The sun, the pain, the joy, and the rain,
together, play as they all procreate,
Creating a magical enigmatic moment,
painted crosswise an imperfect day.
Then flowers bloomed
after bluegrass turned evergreen
rearward the symphony of nature's inevitable gestures and above one’s deeply embedded impure emotions, those motions hardly ever shown
and always unseen.
A reminder that even in life's darkest hour
There's beauty in the rain,
and power regenerates something so small amidst all his vast unfathomed pain.


© Tristian L.F. Ford