Cold brushes by my face
While the raven gives voice to the winter air
I see him
Still and dark against the sky
He sits
I sit
We rest
(I ponder the world at rest)
(Gray must be the color of rest)
Cloudy winter skies
Bare trees
Bleached out dead grass
Mirrored refection's on the water
The earth rests
We rest
(Were the heavens gray when God rested on the 7th day)
Does it matter?
My heart speaks in the quietness of rest
The universe unfolds before me
(Be still and listen)
My troubles and pains fade to gray
Dreams come
Rising like the colors of sunrise
The raven gives voice to the winter air
He rests
The earth rests
I rest
Author notes
Written August 27th, 2005
A contest entry
- And God, In His Wisdom by CarolDesjarlais.
300 points, ended August 28, 2005, 5 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
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what a marvelous question. was it grey on the seventh day. aye, grey seems to be that shade where, for a breif time, no thing happens... a respite to catch your breath from the dizzing array of colours. reading this, made me feel better, for now 'tis apparent that it isna olny i that take long ganders and ponder questions like theses, noe am i the only one that have conversations wi' myself. excellent as always pete, ye are masterful. i canna ever find a thing wrong...
much love,
arden
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This is very....thoughtful....in a restful sense. I think we all need to take the time...and see the grey in life...at rest...so we might well know colors.
Nicely written Sir. -
If gray was a sound instead of a color, its silence would be ringing in my ears all the time I read your poem. Whoever thought desaturation of the senses could be such a tranquil experience? This poem was beautiful, a unique experience to me.
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Oh, gray, the color of rest and contemplation...Very beautiful write.
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