THE FIELD

The field offered its soul tonight
Raw, unadulterated,
White with the innocence of promise
Now silent after busyness
A moment of contemplation
A waiting time
When nature can be still, rest,
And in the silent peace
A family
Of Little Egrets wandered
But this was just a moment
Soon the ploughing will begin
New seeds sown
The silence broken
The cycle will begin again

BROKEN

Beyond what is possible

Comes the impossible

Trying to go beyond

You broke today

For so long

You kept it together

But today

You let it go

And ripped your heart in two

Tried beyond bearing

And now

I have to pick you up

Off the floor

Put you together again

And see your fragility

Again

Soon will come

The breaking of all time

And who then

Will pick you up?

 

PERHAPS SOON

Perhaps soon these days will pass
Days of grey fading into dark
Then the waiting will be done
Fate will be accomplished

Days of grey fading into dark
A different way I then will live
Fate will be accomplished
I wait in limbo for this time

A different way I then will live
A foreigner in this land
I wait in limbo for this time
Whiling away my days

A foreigner in this land
No signposts there I’ll find
Whiling away my days
Waiting for time to pass

No signposts there will I find
Just memories that fade
Waiting for time to pass
Colours now all gone

Just memories that fade
Are my companions now
Colours now all gone
Perhaps soon these days will pass

#FOWC. Masterpiece

FOWC with Fandango — Masterpiece

 

It never was going to be a Masterpiece.  The little boy always came to school in tatty and worn clothes and stinking of urine.  None of the other kids wanted to go near him, and at assembly and other such events you could see them visibly moving away from him and closer to their neighbour on the other side.  He had no friends at all.  And it got worse when he got a skin infection on his hands, and sores aound his mouth.

But he was a cheerful, friendly little boy, often putting his hand up in class to ask questions.  He had a lively interest in all subjects.
Art was one of his favourite subjects, and one day he proudly brought his offering to me for my approval.  No, it was not a Masterpiece, but it was beautiful.  An amazing painting of an insect, minutely presented.  To me, it was the most beautiful thing I had seen for a long time.  It had been painted with love.  And that was what mattered.  I thanked him for this offering, and told him it was beautiful.  It was lovely to see him go away with a smile on his face.