Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Yet, If I Were a Painter





To paint the world tonight would keep the palette sparse; the stars
Blotted by ebony and silver sequins pelting cars
Invisible, save for two red-gold circles and a hiss
Before they disappear into the night’s darkened abyss

Outside my window all is black; thought etches what is there
For sight is veiled by midnight’s shroud, tossed black upon the air
And you might just as easily be standing at my right
Where the bedraggled wind-torn pine keeps vigil day and night

Sometimes when nights are weighted with the heaviness of you
Then wondering and praying are the best that I can do
But, if I were a painter I would feather, dab and brush
A door from here to there against this nearly-midnight hush

I don’t need a picture of you sitting next to me
The one I keep is in my heart and in my memory
Yet, if I were a painter I would splash against the deep
The color of your eyes once more before they fell asleep

© Janet Martin

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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!