A monochrome day. Wind and bluster.
Come sit on the edge of the river,
watching the tourist in their circles,
The clouds are dark. Not quite ominous,
for their darkness is your normal,
simply a state of being.
You are painting in a place artists are not common.
Your palette is brighter than the world around you,
a student of the language of happiness,
still learning after what seems a lifetime
living in the ominous.
It has not been that long of course,
but time loses meaning in the dark times,
and you have to learn
how to create it, give it meaning
and create a sunshine
your mind has so long denied you.
About this poem
I have been in a place of happiness for a few years now. Not that the depression is gone, but that it is easier to push through and see the joy that surrounds me. But… I still struggle with the language of joy.
I’ll get there.
PS: The picture was taken in London.