Some days

Some days she forgets where the palette is kept
and when she remembers the paints are missing
and she wanders the halls lost and bereft
like a stranger in love’s diocese.

No one knows, you see, what to expect
in that place where “life” cannot intrude
and trespass beyond the boundaries imposed
by personal and private intent.

But she has the power to paint the scene
according to all she’s come to believe
and she returns with determined resolve
to find those damn missing tools.

Red, yellow, blue, but it matters not
what hue she decides to use
because to paint no act of a fool
but of one with talent and flair.

And so with the gift of talent and flair
everyone can paint a picture perfect
to hang in the halls of life’s agony
and keep it always in sight.

But we go out, you see, into the fray
of life’s so variable hand-outs
and forget that one day we painted
the blue, so beautiful blue,
into the so dastardly grey …
until, until, we remember!

Helen / 1 April 2010