Moving Days (Are Never What They Seem)

Small droplets of water splatter on the box

seemingly determined to leave their mark

or some relevant explanation for the intrusion

their mass sacrifice, too loudly subtle for the death

Moving days are never what they seem

casualties inevitably disappoint someone

as even with only one box to carry

something may be left behind, lost, or broken                                                     

Perhaps remembered and somehow missed

long after the moving day

Having always sought a sense of permanency

as if seemingly determined to make my mark

I had believed this moving day would be my last

prepared my destination, my carriage, and for all untimely rest

irrespective of greedy pigeons, or shared sandwiches in the park

my moving day would go like clockwork, irrespective of the test

Oh my, small droplets of water splatter down, upon the box

seemingly determined to dampen my every spark

I wonder why the skies this day, would rain angrily upon me

Perhaps something has been truly missed

and here comes a deluge of heartfelt, heavy, noisy tears

or a storm has brewed, waking departing souls and rekindling lonely fears

of why things often go array, on such moving days

It seems, that no matter how well one plans

no matter where on earth, one hopes to stay

fate will inevitably always, have life’s final say

riding out a storm, upon the rain’s swift rivers made

one solitary box and I, are carried away

far beyond the flight of pigeons, memory of my life will surely fade

and even I, won’t remember, my final moving day…

* Words by Rob Pearldiver *

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