When it Rains

October 17, 2007
By Christopher Mignacca, Davie, FL

Oftentimes, when it rains,
I think about my grandparents with their canes,
My sisters, college-bound with growing pains,
My parents, with their daily sayings and monthly bill paying.

I think about the dog, who is no longer with us,
And about my sister’s rooms, coated with dust.
When I think of this, I am sad
And the stars become the eyes of some celestial being,
Twinkling through teary vision.

My parents tell me our family is quiet and discrete,
I argue that it is just incomplete,
Life is fleeting before our very eyes,
And we are left in solitude, empty and dissatisfied,

In stark silence, I labor at my studies,
The house is empty, for here there is nobody,
Nothing is stirring but the hands of a clock,
And the writings my pencil hence wrought.

But at least it is sunny and not raining,
Because even though it pains me to no end,
Oftentimes, when it rains…

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