Paint in the colour of sweat falling
from the toiling labour on the field
Tell me of the colour of cold tears
wailing the suffering of a child lost
Speak the colour of gushing blood
from wounds inflicted by brothers

Recount for me the colour of eyes
holding the gaze of faith and hope
Recite for me the words of fathers
to sons off to the slaughter of war
Sing for me a song of resurrection
from this stone tablet of your god

Laugh in the familial happy voices
rising from the broken bread tables
Write to me about paradoxes of love
on the old white skins of fallen trees
Feel me in the embracing kindness
of the newly awakened friendships


I’ve worn you, my beloved cloak of grief, for so long, a companion.
Dark and musky I carried you with me, until you felt like skin, my skin.
My mind grew attached to you, the thought of letting go a betrayal.

Precious fabric, woven with cords drawn from deep within me.
Painted on your sleeves, a colourful remembrance of my tortured past.
I thought I swore an oath to you, by faithful sacrifices of bountiful tears.

I sensed the slightest change, a bloom, a message of the seasons.
The smallest ray of sunshine on that gray and gloomy rainy day.
Becoming aware of your heaviness, weighing me down, uncomfortably.

I touched your ivory buttons, feeling it between my cold fingers.
I felt the delicate images, lovingly carved on them, irrelevant now.
I heard your cries, as I unbuttoned, first one then another, slowly.

There was a painful tearing of flesh as I removed you from my back.
The act of letting go drawing blood from my ever faithful soul.
Claws of fear clutching frantically at my heart, what am I without you?

Your powerful addictive pulse calling out, desperately reaching.
I knew not to look back at you, but rather turn my face toward the sun.
Shining softly on the faint smile creeping onto my worn out face.