Rainfall

Rainfall

Romain P.-A. Delpeuch

In the meanders of desire,
of fantasies reshaped,
and through impossible constraints
and strictures overcome,
I've lingered late, and now I'm lost.
A silent mist surrounds
the sinful lengths of time I've wasted.
It hides and muffles all
the shame I've hoarded. Lines are blurred;
my voice, inaudible,
confesses nonsense: elegies
to muses never touched,
stanzas to broken kites, and songs
whispered to pretty eyes
in stale obscurity. The gloom
is pure and cold; the rain
can flow behind my face unseen.
From foggy distance shining,
a land bequeathed to all but me,
a tempting echo, fading,
is stretching yonder, down the line
of time, like mountain ranges,
majestic guards, blue giants through
the steamed-up pane, where sets
this sun, relinquished from my gaze.
Though not erased entirely,
the memories of visions shared
will ebb unheeded, swifter
than frothy waters from the sea.
A new corrosion creeps
this way, neglected, overlooked—
disguised as harmony.

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Romain P.-A. Delpeuch
Poet & Writer

Romain was born in south-west France, where he still lives. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in New English Review, Terror House Magazine, The Ekphrastic Review and Apocalypse Confidential