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