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.