As I was having the worst time getting to work, being a little soultired and heartbroken, I wrote an anaphora in free verse based upon the perplexities that were kicking around my head.
I also made an audio recording of it. ♥ Temporary
“Temporary”
She carefully considered all the complaints at hand,
and she paid them off with her silence.
It was the wisest, most patient response she could afford,
but it was not to be confused with acquiescence or agreement.
She was simply too headstrong for that.
She would wait until the time was right to speak.
So she went out and into the near-twilight’s tempest,
and she walked into the insistent torrents of rain,
where the lightning threatened to pale everything around her,
where the thunder shouted at her to turn back,
where the western horizon left to chase the east,
where the sun was held captive by a phalanx of thunderheads,
where its light climbed over their steep defenses, and
where its latent brilliance streaked into the streets, leaving pathways of quicksilver,
until the tempest’s tantrum had worn itself out,
and the evening’s lazy quiet settled in for the night.
Her shoes didn’t mind the puddles, soaked as they were,
and the streets’ sheen gradually recovered their typical lacquered black,
and the sky returned like a sincerely apologetic lover,
and she smiled at the nature of nature,
at the mathematics of time itself,
for time, as it must be, according to its own definition, is temporary.
But, headstrong being as headstrong is,
and clouds’ determination to rise anew from their disappeared brothers’ spirits,
she pondered the relative nature of perspective itself.
She wondered, within her own tiny perspective,
that was encased within her even tinier lifespan,
if she would ever see the changes that she’d fought to accomplish,
if she would ever be able to speak those truths she nourished,
or if the world would always follow its own long, strict calendar
and press force against force,
will against will,
hunger against hunger,
desire against desire,
the love of one thing against the love of another,
until there’s nothing left but sky,
and the emptiness of the relentless transformation of everything temporary
back into the permanence of nothingness.