Thursday, 24 February 2011

ghosts

The mist guided her across the hills,

Her long purple dress mingling with the clover in the long grass

And she could hear the sheep but not see them.

They were all lost to her on that cold mountainside;

The dampness seeped in and she realised they were calling for her,

But she no longer knew the way home.


The crystal door handle was cradled in my hand

The waves threw themselves against the beach

And an old face sat in a deck chair, eyelashes blue, and smiled at me.

I kissed the top of his shaven crown and smiled,

Remembering afternoons of ice-cream and laughter.

I was happy.

It was only when I woke I remembered he was dead.

inspiration for the day


Tuesday, 22 February 2011