August Rains
April 13
@baxternikk (Play while reading poem)
April 20, 2022
3:33 A.M.
Time…
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
Time
Is just a figment of imagination?
What if
Time
Is just a way we try to explain the unexplainable?
What if
Time
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,
Somber.
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,
Time,
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.
“Okay.”
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?