The last time we were here the smell was fresh,
The paper crisp, the window-drapes afloat.
You smiled to see the pages dance; your dress
Swam, buoyant, triumphant on the sea. Our boat
Of words, of rhymes and stanzas, sailed atop
An ocean, swaying current - on, no stop,
Just lucid movement; ever running run,
The day's end fluid as it had begun.
Today the windows yawn, the curtains sink;
The breeze goes nowhere like the stagnant page.
A pen in hand, you walk towards the wall,
And smile to see the clouds roll back. Redress
Parts sea and sky, propulsion charged in ink.
New words break forth in light, redeeming age,
The spirit lifting with the ocean's call.
Published by Matthew Pullar
Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.
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