brambles and thorns

The raspberry tasted of youth.
‘How simple
this is,’
I thought, as I waited for
the coffee to brew.
It is raining today,
a cold rain,
a December rain.
It is only a few weeks away
from the solstice.
The days move so swiftly,
rushing after something I can’t quite see.
As I stood watching the rain
and eating the raspberries
that tasted of youth,
I tried to understand
how time keeps moving;
how this day seems to rush by
toward something I can’t see.
It was never like this
in my youth;
Time used to move gently.
I’d stand amongst the raspberries,
free from care,
just careful not to get pricked by the tiny thorns,
and eat, and eat, and eat.
I began to understand,
pulling myself out of my thoughts
and pouring my coffee,
that the raspberry patch was
my kingdom,
I felt safe there
tucked hidden in the thick brambles and thorns.
the world outside
was full of turmoil;
there was a man out there who was so fierce
that a few scratches
from the inside of my kingdom,
my sanctuary,
paled in comparison
to his anger.