oldPost

IRISH BREAKFAST AND THE BALLAD OF THE RAIN

I sit
the rain mocks the silence around me with it’s force against the tin roof of the porch
it’s like a beggar screaming obscenities in the middle of a wake, silence pierced where only ever silence was expected
yet no longer is it competition to my pelting and thumping heart
instead
together
they play a symphony of truth to the way I feel
the taste of the Irish Breakfast is exquisite as it slides warmly along my tainted throat, a love that I have learnt, a comfort that I share in honest secret, and a meaning lost to all but a special few
or maybe none
the two mean more to me than expected
the tea
the rain
never the same
not ever again
like childhood memories that seem so distant I hope to never lose this moment in time where all that I have wronged and all that I have given away
and up
are mine for a few moments more if only in heart and mind

and still it rains
in waves of heaviness
like spoiled and tangled emotions
twisted agonies
and the bittersweet taste of the blood that fills my mouth
by the words I write
and the heartaches I endure
and the loves that I pine for each and every moment of my now disputable existence
I sip
I close my eyes
I listen heartedly
and I truly feel
in this very moment
the ballad of the rain

2 thoughts on “IRISH BREAKFAST AND THE BALLAD OF THE RAIN”

Leave a Reply