There is a sadness <br />That stretches from the corner of life <br />Like a parade to the borders of the world. <br />There is a field, a few houses and some children <br />Who pause to watch <br />And then go back to their play. <br /> <br />There is a schoolyard and a yellow building <br />That crouches along a wet street, <br />Huddled against a dark towering sky. <br />A boy sits at a desk, safe against the rain, <br />The smell of fresh ink <br />And a soft cotton shirt, resting in folds <br />Against his skin. <br /> <br />At fourteen he is remembering, <br />While sketching at his place, <br />A young girl’s face above a blue and white fence, <br />Her light, brown body <br />And dark eyes hugging the slats <br />And searching. <br /> <br />He wonders why the words stuck oddly, <br />Like raspberry jam in his throat <br />And that when they finally came loose <br />It was only in embarrassed reply to his friends <br />Who stood there in silence <br />And she was distant and thin and receding. <br /> <br />There were no cocks that crowed. <br />(It was not morning.) <br />And yet could there have been a greater betrayal <br />Than when she made her confession public <br />And he said nothing? <br /> <br />There is a sadness <br />That stretches to the corner of his life <br />And although the blue and white fence <br />has since been replaced by others <br />He sometimes sees those dark eyes <br />And feels the tug of life like a wind <br />Rushing from his chest <br /> In a whispered, dry regret.<br /><br />Eric Peters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-is-a-sadness/
