When Time Stands Still

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When time stands still.
The day bids adeiu.
A broken piece wishes it could too.
Cease the tick tocking ticker.
Breathe out in solitude.

Time,that feisty runner.
Sprints at the rate of knots.
Allegedly a healer.
Of Wounds great and small.

Memories are the spanners in its works.
Grinding the wheels to a halt.
Places, people, a fragment of song.
Any trigger.
And the piece stops.

Three steps back for one ahead.
Life is no party.
Dealing with it a dance from hell!

Time…..
It’ll be the first to tell.
Did the piece heal.
Or say farewell.

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Image of A Broken Heart

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Leaden skies.
Birds flung about.
Trees bent double with the weight.
Water cascading faster than it can be drained.

A heavy heart.
Incapable of speech.
Unable even to scream in agony.

Scattered thoughts.
Overwrought.
Craving release.

Staring eyes.
Dry eyed and blank.
Unseeing.
Yearning to shed.

The being seeks oblivion.
Solace from constant endurance.
Fatigued with incessant hurt.
Longs to heal.
Longs to be whole.

About White.

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White.
Bright skies.
Radiance.

White.
Touches at a temple.
Crisp cuffs and a collar.
Dignity.

White.
A moonlit night.
Magic.

White.
Daisies in a patch.
Innocence.

White.
Waves in a river.
Turbulence.

White.
Surrounding a yolk.
Delicious.

White.
Rolling cotton.
Gentle.

White.
A polished diamond.
Strong.

White.
A pearl.
Luminous.

White.
All the colours.
United.

White.
An end.A beginning.
A blank page to write.

White.
Calm.Neutral.
Insight.

White.
Happiness.
A respite.
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The Journey

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A tired body
A weary  soul.
Fatiguing  thoughts taking a toll.
Questions.No answers.
Pain.No remedies.
A longing for numbness.
Overwhelming the whole.
The journey-A long dark road.

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A corner turned.
Some colour soared.
Across a canvas huge and high.
With light,
And shade.
Criss crosses made.
One stays the other fades.
Forever, neither stays.
The journey-brighter than before.

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Still no answers.
Still some pain.
They criss cross too
And remain.
It’s light that makes them bearable.
Gives perspective.
A smattering of reason,
A soup├žon of hope.

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We’ll do.We’ll find our own.
We’ll get there.
The colours in the journey,
Will line the way.