Rain Drops

by Mike Meraz

rain drops
like a thousand nights before.
nothing has changed.
"nothing ever changes,"
he said to me two days ago.
his vacant words
hit dimly on my soul,
like a lie, or a half truth
that wants to be made whole.
"it changes," I thought,
and moves
and breaks
and turns
and even feels pain.
but you refuse to accept it,
to feel it.
it is easier to say,
"nothing ever changes."
to let it ride,
to give in,
to allow it to take hold,
while you ponder your mistakes,
the ones you have made
over and over again.
it is easier to swallow booze,
to take drugs,
to drag on the cigarette,
to turn on the TV
and forget
how it all has gone wrong.
it is easier
to stand by the butcher block
and turn to the young man
half your age,
full of hope and dreams,
and say to him,
with your jaded wisdom,
"nothing ever changes."

hell it does!

as this angry pen
hits this flinching paper,

hell it does!