Will we see past the colour
Will we perceive the beauty
Held within these simple strokes
Or will our hearts refuse
To see the reality beneath
The murmur of life
That hums equally
Within all living things
Regardless of how we paint them
early morning flight
aisle seat next to a stranger
Once more I found myself
Wedged into a cycle of regret.
The lessons learned from times past
Eluded me in my time of need –
No witty reply,
No clever riposte
Escaped my gaping mouth…
Until I got home with time to stew –
Mentally running scenarios, and
Creating unspoken witticisms.
One day I’ll be prepared
For the audacity of my fellow man.
It is said; if you wear an ugly face
When the wind changes –
Your face will stay that way.
If the wind changes
While my heart is broken –
Will it stay that way too?
From the west it came
Carrying dust and sandflies.
My skin dried and grit filled my eyes.
I felt I’d never be the same.
This ill wind had blown no good.
To my despair was added discomfort.
Hopes for peace had come up short –
I let myself fall.
Removing his slippers
He stepped barefooted onto the smooth pebbles.
Moving slowly, he stooped occasionally,
Careful to collect every fallen, red maple leaf –
Then, using the bamboo rake
He carefully made the patterns she’d loved.
Sitting on a low wooden bench
He now drank his tea and remembered.