Purple, Blue And Green Poem by Rebekah Gamble

The city shrouded in fog
is unaware of the magic
wrapping itself around the steel
and smoke and lies.
The low cloud
laden with rain
is ready to give birth,
and yet they do not know it.
The hill surrounds one side
of the city.
It is tall and black,
like a fortress
watching over the maggots
as they crawl in and out
of the corpse-like buildings.
They do not feel it.
They do not sense it.
They do not see it.
They do not look up.
In looking up, there are the clouds
that are dark in a dark sky.
They look like gods
laying on couches from Roman times.
Their hands reach for each other.
Some mouths are opened in extreme emotion.
There are men and women;
all majestic and powerfully formed
by the brush strokes of some painter’s hand.
They dropp gentle kisses
as drops of rain
onto the city,
onto the people.
The people do not receive these kisses kindly.
They screech and hide
inside their coffin buildings.
I stand alone,
my face raised to the gods,
my arms spread wide,
catching their kisses-
welcoming the soul of earth and sky.
The people whisper.
They fear the life
pouring from me, like a tumbling river.
They love too much
the taste of death on their tongues.
The fog wraps me
in love, magic and exquisite beauty,
covering me in glory.
It is full of hope and promise.
They can not feel that.
Soon the fog will clear,
and the city will be grey,
unchanged, unchangeable,
unknowing, not caring if it knows.
The trees guard the valley
as dark sentry towers.
These people do not know.
They do not feel.
They are dead.

written on o5 january,2oo7
Thank you, Jon, for showing me the world.
I only wish you were alive to see it (and me) now.