The echo of her name within my heart sustains me through the longest, loneliest, hardest part of the night when the silence crowding in on me creates more silence until I hear the echo,
then I know that night will end as surely as the day will come when shadows run to catch the light and the echoes leave with the silence of the night.
If I could paint a picture on the sky she would be the colour of Autumn blue, subdued and yet so full of life, the Winter and his wife or perhaps a piece of Summer fell into the dreams wherein I dwell and lit the silence up so bright, the way she once lit up my night.
Like echoes bouncing off the walls and disappearing hear, my call to heaven and its Saints to paint for me a capturing of a sweet refrain and blend it deep into and within my soul to ease the pain.
The echo of her name rebounds, more sounds to fill the silence until the silence fills the sounds.
© 2015, John Smallshaw.