To The Rescue

 

 

 

            On certain days, it never

Ceased to drizzle,

The break in cloud, the days of

Sunshine more uncertain

Than his political convictions!

 

 

            The conversations always

Mocked him, for there would be

Days he would dress for winter and;

     The Sun would briefly show itself,

Making parodies of his intuitions persistence.

 

 

     How he often fooled himself.

 

 

            The days he loathed the most;

The days the full picnic basket never

Left the house - his plans, like puddles

Of confusion in his thoughts;

Wreaking havoc in his conscience,

Swamped by inaccurate conclusions -

Giving way to contusions of his mind.

 

 

            Then there were the days he let

The Man upstairs himself be host,

Neither rain nor shine but both;

     On these days,

When all the political tongues

For once ‘shut up,’

The world would cease its

Incessant contradictions,

And on these days he would smile,

Beholding all the colours of a Rainbow,

Glad he never knew it all,

Gladder still to be alive.

 

 

 

Michael J Waite 29^th December 2009