Black Rain Poem by Clyde King

Like lead bullets the rain
beats on the roof. I stare at
the ceaseless spinning of
the ceiling fan blades.
The swooshing sound is a
sibilant whisper telling me that life
has no meaning without you. Your
features are fading from memory.
I no longer hear your voice, smell
your perfume or feel your warm,
moist body next to mine. Why do we
love that which can be taken
from us? My soul cries out, tormented,
haunted. The sinews in my heart
writhe painfully. I'm conscious and
you are not. I must let your spirit
depart from me, I must accept
that you are gone, I must accept
the eventuality we all go through,
I must accept the often endless
ebb and flow, impermanence,
ephemeral and transience of life.