Red and white flowers
grow on the bluffs
that overlook the ocean,
the only color
that breaks this granite sky.
The cliffs,
the sand,
the grass,
devoid of color,
as if this late autumn wind
has blown away the life.
This used to be
a picture postcard place,
before time and its demons
stole its soul.
The little towns,
inset along the coastline
don’t sparkle much like jewels
anymore.
Maybe this year’s been hard,
and others have been, too.
The fish don’t come in shoals,
and the tourists are few.
The people here are tough
and they’ll stay until the last,
but even they have noticed
that the sky is not so blue.
Like someone poked a hole
in the world
and all the color ran out.
All the joy,
the pain,
the sadness,
and the smiles.
Yellow left,
and red was not far behind.
Blue and green disappeared overnight.
Purple, pink,
even brown and orange
bled out,
like wounded soldiers in a war.
These days,
it’s shades of grey
that paint the seaside villages.
Washed out shorelines,
dreary, listless waves.
Except here in this place,
above the crashing waves,
flowers,
red and white
grow all over the place.
Like blood and purity
prevailed here.
Like love and innocence
held on to the world,
never abandoned in this
grey, and black, and beige exchange.
Life still fights on.
Love still finds away.
The ointment
for that slate-grey sky,
for that drab existence,
plagued by bland malaise,
exists,
if we could only find it
out here on the bluffs,
above the waves.
HG – 2020
Very beautifully written. Hope you and your family are well. Love ❤️ Joni
Thank you, as always, Joni.
My pleasure. Hope you have a great week. Hugs 🤗 Joni.