Night is my time; and now the rain,

                                                                Pattering in the darkness of the

                                                                Overgrown garden, seems like a lifetime’s

                                                                Distant thoughts – so cool, so impersonal

                                                                        – an inspiration.

Yes, night is the time when, alone, I nurture

My intransigence, my inhumanity, my isolation,

My irremediable separation from everyone

I have ever known.

As, outside, the light rain scatters droplets

Among the humid leaves, I ask myself:

Do I suffer?

Well, my brittle, suddenly unmasked soul

Replies: perhaps I cried out, once…

But, oh, so very long ago…

And now the rain, diamond-like, scattered through

The twisted branches, the entangled labyrinth

Of my wasted days, still falls in the

Overgrown garden: a steady, gentle noise

Offering the faint possibility of reassurance,

The illusion that something matters.






   A C  Evans




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