Painted Dreams

Leaves blew in a tiny colored skittering on a frenzied wind.

I would soon have to be going for the cemetery closes at dark.

The pink gray clouds above yawned across the rising moon.

I sat with lips sealed in the quietness by the lady and the cross.

I could feel the warmth from the sun escape as it fell behind the trees in the west.

Still…I just sat in the somber silence and though broken, I knew Leah was at rest.

I could still see the piddling in the mud that I had written the day before.

The days sun had etched like now to stone my words of Leah, I love You.

The moon in the east grew brighter and the sun in the west had at last set.

I rose to my feet to leave for the night and a voice inside said, “no not yet”.

I could hear my artist, my lady, my love, my life…I could hear her say I painted you a picture tonight.

My heart beat with sadness that only a torn heart would ever know.

Soft warm tears came like rivers falling into the piddling of baked mud below.

I turned then to leave having said my loves and my goodnight.

And I saw the painting that my Leah painted for me in the western sky.

Oh this heart never loved more; this heart thus pummeled and worn.

Should I see the light no more this heart in singular hope is born.

For I rise upon this thought; this individual heartfelt dream.

I know that I know that though broken in spirit our love was always pure and clean.

J. Allen Wilson © 10/12/08

Painted Dreams

© 2008 J. Allen Wilson