Friday 21 February 2014

Pain

I watched as the black slowly bleach into mud..
Stillness so profound..
There were no discernible sounds..
My own breath and the constant annoying ring of a dead ear..
Then dusk spilled quietly across the expanse of Pane..

Paled comparison to the colors heralding a new dawn..
Light  began intrusion..
Disturbing  confines of my room..
Milled thoughts like a  slow under current along a lazy river bank..
 Pane became a canvass as hues edged the boarders..

Then I anticipated all the colors comprised of you..
A vision etched..
Completion of pictured new dawn’s..
There is never so perfect an artist as that of a memory..
Never more perfect a subject as that of yearning..

by Billy Graham
Words In Motion 2014 

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