Raw rain righteously reigns, and regains redemption...
Resounding, retaining, rationing, relishing...
Radiantly rolling, rhythmically, round and round...
Racing ruggedly, rushing, rushing...
Radioactive rehabilitation, reckoned readily...
Recognizing responsibly, regardless of relationships...
Regularly referencing the remnants of the resurrected...
Regaining rough rosy relics, reluctantly and roundaboutly...
_________________________________________
And then...
There was silence and the whole world took a bow.
For it was...
Proudly humble,
Wickedly innocent,
Rudely polite,
Maliciously benevolent.
And it continued...
remembering history,
the pretty parts, the nasty parts, and the parts that were neither.
Like a broken record, the world repeated...
the pretty parts, the nasty parts and the parts that were neither.
All of creation watched...
in horror and bemusement,
in gratitude and frustration,
in admiration and hatred,
in love and wearisomeness,
in purity and nastiness.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
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More stories from Rowan Finley and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Dart at Dusk
Seconds ago, the sullen sun set on the two of us… my exuberant furry companion and me. A fresh breeze embraces us, delivering welcome relief from the day’s oppressive heat. His typical stumbling and staggering along — apace with a sloth — has turned into trip-trapping, high-stepping, almost skipping along.
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶a day ago in Petlife
Comments (1)
This is stunning!✨ It makes me wonder—when you wrote this, were you thinking about a specific moment in history, or was it more of a general reflection on the nature of cycles in the world?