Days flutter pass
like the wind blown pages of a book
to rest on one page
which you decorate with
happiness,
glorious art the colors of heaven
drawn with joy, love, future
until a rush of air blows hostile
rips the edge from the seam
to a page of scribbled
pain,
stiff lines of anguish, questioning grief
shades of light and dark
swirled into murky gray.
The breeze of life wafts pages
slowly,
build to a fanning pace
past blurs of memory,
landing on a blank canvas,
another first page,
ready for you.
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