It is a grey day
My heart is stuffed with pillows
The breeze blows through my head as if it wasn't there
And through the unrelenting sunlight
Under the eaves
There are shadows
Darkness
Dread
Death
Gravestones
With the names of loved ones
It is a grey day
My world is stuffed with pillows
My stomach filled with bright and burning lead
Skin deep sunlight burns my skin
And all around
There lie shadows
Peace
Promises
Posies
Plots of grass
Marked by picket fences
It is a grey day
My soul is stuffed with pillows
There is hot sun, there is blue sky, but I have fallen
Past the sweet scent of roses
Where the lies lie
Beneath the bright words
Bold
Brave
Brash
That mark
The places we dare not cross
Alicia Ponder
I rather hate doing this - but this poem should really be softly illustrated, each stanza has a little church, a churchyard and a picket fence. (Also the font and the format make a big difference, and I'm not entirely sure I have them quite right here. )
Love the pillows and the listed words in each stanza and the last line in each stanza - and the way they talk to each other...
ReplyDeleteMary you're such a sweetheart. I look at it and go - I wonder if that word is right? should I move that? ...
ReplyDeleteMaybe in twenty years... :)
I like this poem a lot - especially the final stanza, and "Where the lies lie". Though, at the moment, I pine for even the greyest days of summer...
ReplyDeleteCheers Tim.
ReplyDeleteAbout the weather I know what you mean. Still that type of grey day isn't something I'm keen on repeating in a hurry.