Cold And Rainy


I am cold and rainy
and the window
of the morning
has blackened.
The bright birds
who sang for the sun
have left

and the tall trees
that rested them
have fallen
hard to ground.
And then the sea calls,
its white foams
my element,

its voice
the voice
of reason,
its voice
the only
word that
gets through

in a world whose
voices have lost sense,
becoming their own
arguments
meaning
nothing
at all.

I am cold and rainy
and empty as a hymn,
the last word
of God final,
no replacements
now everything's set,
the clock sounding

hours and the last breath
felt in the warmth of you
no longer solid
but fluid
as good words
that flounder in the moon's
hard light

suggesting favours
that could never be,
the cold rays
of morning
displacing smiles
that would wonder
at might-have-beens

and rest on a moment.
These are the words
that end everything,
collecting silences
that speak too often,
the world gone
and all time stopped

for an instant,
collecting fates
that go nowhere
with nothing to say
and with nothing to do
following their absolutions
that ring true,

the absolute murder
of affection.

John Cornwall

If you've any comments on his poem, John Cornwall will be glad to hear from you.


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