Unfinished

May 10, 2009

The rain begins to hit the ground ever so lightly.

If it wasn't for the reflection of light on the pond

the drops would have remained invisible.

As the words of Blues Traveler fill my ears

"Once upon a midnight dreary..."

I think.

What about those midnight promises?

Are they locked away?

Will they forever be remembered?

Can I face them

when it comes time for my fate and destiny

to collide?

The rain grows softer, more insignificant,

barely there.

Is that what it is like to grow old?

Do you simply fade into the shadows?

Do you become a photograph that gathers dust

in a box full of memories?

The rain is non-exsistant.

When I die, do I become a name?

One among many, placed on a plaque

hiding on hollow ground?

The sun dries the earth and leaves no impression of rain.

When I am gone, does my life

and everything that was once a part of me

simply disappear?

Like the rain?