rain swept branches strewn, <br />small testaments of living. <br />frail egos broken <br />in morning sunlit pieces. <br />of such is life... <br />hands made of flesh <br />building hearts. <br />storms come unannounced, <br />and forever shattered. <br />the rain soaks the embers, <br />a thin wisp of smoke. <br />stirred by the stick of time, <br />praying for flame. <br /> <br />are we then fire, <br />or just smoke? <br />smalls branches clinging <br />to the tree... <br />lightning in the distance, <br />or hearts made of thunder? <br />buds on the broken branch, <br />or the fleeting instant <br />of the storm's fury? <br />all of these, or something else, <br />or a thought forgotten <br />by a lonesome God?<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-thought-forgotten/
