Low sun bleeds pale gold,
Spilling across the unwashed sky
Bleaching everything it touches,
Leaching life and colour.
Bare trees fade to cry,
Weak and feeble rays
Diffuse and ineffective.
Tired, worn world waits.
Time
Stands
Still.
Suspended between past and future,
Fear and hope,
Evil and good,
Darkness and light.
In this moment poised in eternity
Anything is possible.
The sun stands still
And waits for an answer.
We find ourselves the other side of words,
Where time stands still and all else seems to cease
Except the painful sounds of grief are heard
Then slowly fade away to gentle peace,
A peace that can remember how to laugh
At memories of happy days gone by;
A peace that leads us down a different path,
A journey shared within the tears we cry.
The silent words within our heart reveal
The legacy of love now left behind,
And as our wounded hearts begin to heal
In time, I know, each one of us will find
The imprint of a life of giving,
The imprint of a life worth living.
A stained-glass window
Refracting myriad panes of
Azure, cobalt, turquoise.
Hushed voices whisper through shingle,
The rise and fall of ancient invocation,
The repeated murmurs of penitent prayer.
Rocks eroded and shaped
By relentless waves, capricious storms
Carving a memorial stone.
Primordial incense of death,
Rotting and renewing, cloying and cleansing,
Breath of life.
Poiema 