The God Box

Clouds,
in a thousand shades of gray and blue,
purple and cream and palest peach,
some rolled long like bats of wool,
others thrusting like tufts of fur plucked upwards,
some clumped like great fistfuls of cottonballs,
others feathered into mare‚s-tails combed thin by the wind,
some spun into smooth sheets of satin,
others still in little rills like waves coming in,
or scalloped like seashells and fishes‚ scales,
all seen in a single sky,
as if God had gotten to the bottom of Her craft-box
and decided to use up all the loose ends at once.

Colors of the Heart

There‚s a kind of hope that lifts your heart
On wings that cannot fray
Like the color of a morning sky
That‚s turning toward the day
There‚s a kind of freedom in the mind
Through which all can be done
Like the color of an eggshell sky
Around a summer sun
There‚s a kind of grief that holds you close
And makes friends with the pain
Like the color of a cloudy sky
That‚s dreaming of the rain
There‚s a kind of dark excitement with
A savage ancient song
Like the color of an autumn sky
Whose winds blow cold and strong
There‚s a kind of vision in the soul
That sees from far to soon
Like the color of a clear night sky
That holds a waning moon
There‚s a kind of fury in the blood
That beats the battle drums
Like the color of a stormy sky
Before the blizzard comes
There‚s a kind of easy peace that takes
You down in sweet repose
Like the color of an evening sky
That‚s shedding all her clothes
There‚s a kind of love that lights your way
Although its time is past
Like the color of a predawn sky
That breaks night‚s hold at last

© Elizabeth Barrette