SHADOWS
If I paint the diary of a day in my life as the hours close,
The blues and yellows of my joy, or reds and blacks of my despair
Wrestle their trails across the canvas. I console myself
That if misery is not illuminated by some small happiness,
Or joy is not backlit by some unwanted occurrence
That leaves me questioning my resilience,
Then how can I judge the true measure
Of the contents of my mind and the state of my emotions
Against the colours on the canvas?
To see the shape of the light, we need shadows
Or we are simply blinded.
This week someone broke something,
Their perpetual lies carving out the air
Between the knowledge and my paintbrush
Even as the chaffinch fed his young from my windowsill
And the peonies exploded their pinks and crimsons.
The unsteady platform of my trust in others
Was insecurely balanced. But the universe is better placed
To give back their intent, while I record their contrasts
On canvas that will bear testament, tomorrow and tomorrow.
