Tag: #metaphor

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Raindrops on a Pond – A Sonnet

Sometimes I would walk to a certain pond in a park not far away,
mainly cuz it felt like a good chill spot, and geese would hang out nearby,
but it was on the rainy days I would sit under cover of trees, and even longer I would stay,
watching raindrops hit the pond – each a unique, speeding water comet – exploding at the surface, living until it dies.

A pond’s water ripples concentrically, with the impact of each raindrop.
The ripples are felt eventually throughout.
Your actions push your life forward – no dams, no stoppers, no drains stop,
for no matter how faint the ripples we make, the impact is like an echo that comes from a shout.

The water we touch, no matter where it stands,
is never the same before contact is made,
our actions build the life we hold in our hands
and like water in a pond, our lives move differently each day.

Our lives are vibrations, just like bullets of water turned into quickly moving, tiny waves,
We’re all raindrops crashing into a pond, with our own life’s rippling circles to maintain. – RSM

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Ride The Waves

Anxiety washes away like waves
along the winding coastlines of SoCal during the day
No matter how many times I beat it, it returns
Just like how a fresh new crest of a wave re-emerges,


Eternally growing, moving, charging, crashing, repeating the cycle again,
when anxiety peaks I think of the sound of waves crashing
And try to think of things from a different lens. – RSM

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Chaotic Alignment(s)

Thick, dry ropes, with strong flames, burning,
running parallel, at different speeds, converging,
The flames race on, hiss and move along, swerving,
so much uncurling to do, it’s unnerving –

A full, blue moon hovers over big changes,
that shape and carry on the flames to their next stages,
The coming days, weeks, years, you’ll feel the full force
of where these winds of change blow the flames’ embers to-wárds.

Some of the ropes run a straight, narrow line,

keeping their flames the same – a slow, steady grind,
others slither-and-wind, flames wither-and-die,
Ultimately they all spiral together and combine.

This fire is all we have – the present is the blaze,

The past are the charred ropes, smoke rising in a haze
and future are the ropes ahead, yet to be burned – unfazed
by the warmth of the moment that we feel day to day.

So many of the burning strings entangle at angles
that show a grim picture – the near future looks mangled,

the present feels pretty unpleasant, we’re not fine;
headed toward uncertainty, as crooked timelines intertwine.- RSM