The Other Face Of Time Poem by Paul Brookes

wearing too much black but not in mourning,
though it is morning and the light is absorbed.
glasses darker than the other side of the moon
and like my face turned away.

the curtains are drawn; it is midday,
might as well be midnight.
the storm clouds you left at my door yesterday,
they have dissipated but the rain still lingers.

across the meadow, if it could be seen,
the grass would be wet with useless tears
and it will grow all the taller for it.
soon they will be dried by the wind.

tomorrow, that shy elusive fellow will come
and there will be bright raiment to wear.
all the spectrum, curtains will be broken open,
the sun that shone on the other side of happiness
will once again shine and the mubble-fubbles banished.

till then I will wear black, though, and I stress this,
I'm not in mourning this morning.
as always, all thing pass absorbed into history.