A Sonnet
When time by rain is slowed down to a crawl,
I sit alone in thoughtful reverie
And face for hours an empty stretch of wall
While wander I through fitful memory.
But memory is like a moonlit night
Where shadows have remembrances obscured,
And those which show in dim and pallid light
Are all that have through untold time endured.
I wonder, then, at what I may have lost
Just out of reach behind that veil of black.
What does one gain from such a mournful cost?
What profits age when recollections lack?
And what exactly does one hope to find
While searching in the shadows of the mind?
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