Purple
Cracked and yawning they wait. Wait for the sun.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Wait for the wind to change.
Wait for letters, with news, with words
from home.
Fractured images split through the wooden frame of morning.
Old eyes, opening slowly with the dawn. Comfort, feeling the soft shape of his wife nestled in the soft line of quilt next to him. the warmth of her body seeping through the sheets and into his tired old body. A sweet reminder of 57 years together.
Two white doves sit high on a wire. Their tiny feet balancing, as the wind sways their tiny world. One turns to the other to tweet good morning. But the other is gone.
The phone rings in the hall, peeling insistently, echoing off the wooden mahogany, the gold plaited mirror hanging opposite of the closed front door, reflecting nothing, the gilded picture frames, the dried flowers in their vase. And the phone rings on. Never to be answered.
The window looks out onto the street, the curtains are left half open, a lit christmas tree left twinkling in the dark. Purple and blue and white. Refracted in the windowpane, in drops of rain, on faces sleeping, shadowed with bright sin and buried hope.
Hold onto the love you have. Hold onto the life it gives you, the life you can feel in your veins.
Hold onto the smiles that surround you, let them penetrate deeply your soul.
If you have someone, if you have your some one.
Always give your love, a hundred fold.
Kahlil Gibran:
On Joy and sorrow,
They are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Mumford and sons:
So hold on to what you believe in the light
When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight
So hold on to what you believed in the light
So hold on to what you believed in the light
