An Unseen Hand

A perfect picture painted

Across an empty space

A place you once knew well

The sky has become violet

There is a slow drift of clouds

The taste of dreams

Upon your tongue

A sweet scent of jasmine

The flowering of your life

A rose floats at the waters edge

A tear falls slowly

And shatters the glass

In the frame

Now an unquiet field

Of shadows

An unseen hand

A door opens

A last look

Floating colours

All the variations

There comes the sound

Of words that were never said

And the relentless pealing

Of the funeral bell

Until only the echoes

Are left

© Ann Bagnall 2014.