Painting in the Rain
The rain has turned dark
and color dulls.
It is no day to paint,
for there is no color in your soul.
The night has claimed you
and mocks your belief
that love as you believe it
exists.
Still, you take the brush.
You paint
things that will never be seen,
mournings and madness,
dark things,
your watercolors spotted
with tears.
Quarry House 
Sad but beautiful. We all have days just like this. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever find that pure joy again. But there is always hope.
That’s what I keep telling myself. Some days I believe it. Some days I don’t.
Well maybe folks like us are meant to finish out our days like this and to be there for others. …I just don’t know.
I believe there are brighter places. I believe I will get there. It’s just a harder path for some than others. But that also makes it more precious when we do have those places and times.
Amen!
I do live with hope mostly because I believe that God’s will put that heart tug in our psych. It’s never too late and all that is required is that my heart be open. The poem describes my sometime late at night self – as it does for many, but my morning hope is always brighter. And when it isn’t I work at it. The dream is too sweet to let die.
The dream is too sweet to let die. I love that.