August Rains

April 13

@baxternikk (Play while reading poem)

Anonymous , writer

3:33 A.M.


Doesn’t feel real.

I watch it go by,

I see the numbers change,

The hands move,

The sun rises,

The sun sets,

The moon visit,

The seasons change,

The birds migrate,

The flowers bloom,

The leaves fall,

The wind blows, 

The trees wave,

The animals eat,

The people talk,

The movies run,

The stars fade,

The skies cry, 

The fog rise,

The colors disappear,

The world turns,

The clouds drift,

The waves crash,

The sands shift,

The rocks break, 

The mountains grow,

The valleys deepen, 

I see time.

I don’t feel it.


The lamp light 

Shines against my check.

The ticking of my clock

Fades into silence.

The rain on my window

Blurs into my tears.


4:36 A.M.

How do you measure time

Relative to the life someone lived?

Is it the memories you have of them?

The memories they left with the world?

The things they accomplished? 

The things they left unfinished?

The way they touched other lives?

The way they lived?

Their greatest joys?

Their dreams?

The way they made time feel like a memory?

The way they could make the coldest days warm?

The places they’ve been?

The places they didn’t get to go?

The way they could make you smile?

The way they walked unmarked paths?

Their work?

Their legacy?

The way they carried the weight of the world?

The way they admired simple things?

The people they helped?

The people they left behind?

The way they changed you?

The way they made every second feel like an eternity?

Their smile? 

Their memory?


I replay my favorite memories.

I remember that one time,

The time we snuck out

To go watch the sunrise 

On the top of Willow Hill.

I smile.


5:58 A.M.

The concept of time haunts me.

It comes for me

In the dead of night, 

In the brightness of day,

In the midst of happiness,

In the middle of a smile,

In the cold of my sadness,

In the gold of sun,

In the silver of moon,

In the melody of song,

In the hollowness of fear,

In the dearest of sights,

In the beauty of nature,

In the shadow of doubt,

In the depths of my mind,

In my memories.


The light of dawn 

Creeps in my window.

The day is grey,

Even the sun’s vision is foggy.

My mind is still.

I get ready.


6:31 A.M.

Time has puzzled many

Throughout the history of man.

What is time?

I’m not the only person 

That wonders,

Or has wondered,

About such a mysterious

Yet familiar thing.

Math says 

Time is measurement.

It measures

The extent of an event,

The distance between them, 

Their sequences.

Physicists say

Time is 

The evolution of events,

The unfolding or the past,

The present,

And the future.

It’s the irreversible

Recollection of existence.

There is a branch of philosophy,

Dedicated to time.

Many theories dwell there.

Some say

Time doesn’t exist at all.


I don’t drink coffee,

But I make some anyway,

I’ll need it today.

The smell takes me back in time.

To a place we’ve been before.

Your laughter echoes in my head.


7:59 A.M.

What if

Time is not an object

Used to determine 

Material things?

What if

It doesn’t dictate 

The future,

The past,

Or the present?

What if

It doesn’t sew together

The fabric of existence?

What if 

we have it wrong?

What if 

we don’t know?

What if 


Is just a figment of imagination?

What if


Is just a way we try to explain the unexplainable?

What if


Is what you make it?


I leave early,

The drive is long.

The trees shower in the rain,

The day is still.

The ride is quiet,



9:00 A.M.

Do you think

We’ll ever really know?

Is it one of those things

We’re destined to discover 

After we’ve lived?

Or will it always be

Just a little bit too far

To reach?

Does it wait for us?

Does it watch us

Looking for it 

With its hand out

Just waiting to be found?

Like a long lost friend?

Or does it run?

Does run from us

The way I would have

If I’d known 

The things I know

Before I knew them?


The services begin.

Everyone stands hand in hand,

Around your resting place,

The way you’d want if you were here.

A man speaks as the rain falls around us.

I hear no sound.


9:15 A.M.

Could you measure,


In words spoken?

Faces seen?

Stars fallen?

Tears cried?

Hugs received?

Roses given?

Could you measure it

In lonely people?


I lay my yellow rose with you.

She pulls me aside,

Hands me a marker.

She says something,

But I don’t hear, 

Only stare at the marker.

9:20 A.M. 

Could you measure it

In stories told?

Adventures taken?

Lands explored?

People met?

Winds blown?

Creatures lived?

Could you measure it

In flowers grown?


“Are you listening?” 

I nod.

“Write something.”

The thought of speaking,

The thought of my voice,

Frightens me. 


9:21 A.M

Could you measure it

In tree height?

Petal shape?

Mushroom color?

Animal footprints?

Bird sounds?

Root depth?

Could you measure it 

In butterfly wings? 


I think about her request,

About my fear,

About your last moment here.


The color in her face drained,

As I turned to face all the staring eyes.


9:22 A.M.

Could you measure it

In ladybug spots?

Dragonfly kisses?

Caterpillar cocoons?

Moth patterns?

Bee honey?

Nature’s transformations?

Could you measure it 

In rain temperature? 


I remind myself to breathe.

I walk towards you.

I open the marker, 

Look at all the sad faces, 

And remember who we used to be.

I write all the things I never got to say.


9:32 A.M.

Could you measure it

In August Rains?