Droplets of Time

They were not mere raindrops
sliding down my father’s car windows.
They were colliding and merging worlds.
A game of creation and annihilation.

Droplets of Time, tears of the Soul.
My father’s car is long gone
but I still wonder at the power
of a child’s imagination.

And when it starts raining
there are neither where nor why.
The Silence in my heart helps me
to clarify some of Life’s great mysteries.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Confession

I build crystal cathedrals
then I take a special delight
in destroying all of them.

I like when sharp shards
hurt my child heart.
I love when it aches and bleeds.

Yes, I have to concede
I’m a bit of a masochist.
Besides, Someone told me

you are your own worst enemy.
But what wouldn’t I do to grasp
the beauty of suicide poetry?

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: the Death of Ophelia
(Odilon Redon, 1905)