When my late husband died I felt very alone, as we all do while dealing with grief. My home was sold shortly before he died, I couldn’t find a suitable replacement and spent several months with kind friends. This idea of searching for a new life, where I would find peace and contentment came to me then.
The Door
Its surface is rough and blistered
the handle is shaky
blackened with age.
Like Alice
I need to find the magic words
but I’m afraid
that never-ending loneliness
waits beyond this door
that drifting in a world of grey
is not the life for me.
I summon up courage
and paint on a smile
prepare to wait
it could take a while
for the door that’s right
to appear.
Coloured like jewels
from the brush of Gustav Klimt
it opens to melodies
of Mozart and Lizst.
With angelic voices
we sing Gregorian chant
while walking through forests
and resting by streams.
Clothes are floaty
no cares of fashion
even the old
wear beauty with grace.
Sex isn’t an issue
nor ego.
Faces are smiling
we fulfil our dreams.
I write my story in the air.
Words float away
like the music of birds
not recorded
cherished for the moment
in which they’re created.
Later, I’ll find them
remembered
like the sounds of a symphony
or the trace of a touch.
I’m still alone
inside this brightly coloured zone
but have no fear.