Evening Rain

The night was cold and the air was damp. The faint rhythm of the rain was heard echoing through the dark and empty hallways of the old, worn mansion. A faint glow of candlelight could be seen from the library, exposing a man advanced in years resting in an armchair of ancient, carefully sipping his red wine. As he was sitting there, he reflected over the endless past memories of his beloved and the precious love they shared, He remembered her for the inner beauty and joy that freely flowed from her heart, refreshing his innermost spirits with a childhood delight, ever forgetting about her aged wrinkles and her snow-white hair. He also remembered the ever blooming love that she had, both for him and for the precious life that she freely gave. Then as the night grew old and the touch of the air chilled, his memories of delight turned into ones of deep sadness with the remembrance of her everlasting departure. The tears of his heart began to flow like a swollen river and his cries echoed through the empty rooms. Then, as the last tear had been cried and the last of the wine had been sipped, he laid his head down and watched the rain creep slowly under the door.I don't think that this can be considered poetry, however, I do think it's poetic. Written December 24th, 2001 © on Dec 24 2001 02:57 PM PST   0 • 1