A joy as relieving as the one I felt,
No more the heartless suffering pain,
The not knowing syndrome, I dread,
I need not weep my Kenwyn rain.

 

A frailty, the house of cards,
The breeze may unsteady my timing,
Yet all is peaceful, restless and still,
The glow of the night still shining.

 

Bereft of tranquillity I find content,
A mere shockwave from a parasitic past,
And though I will fly through these troubled skies,
My poetical prey will survive, kinship will last.

 

The next chapter opens, the plot rears and turns,
Its harvest may be shallow, though depth I may read,
Hope can be terminal yet can vanquish so much,
Kenwyn rain can heal, Kenwyn rain can bleed.

​

1997