Transmuting

Transmuting 

The skies sit like non risen dough, 
heavy and flat.
Water swims on pavements and roads 
as if oozing from the earth 
and all feels very Novemberly; 
dank, dark, cold as winter earth. 
The darkness of my shelter is heavier than ever.
I, like the skies feel heavy and flat
as my emotions want to ooze from every pore.
I would like to gauge holes in my roof 
to allow the joyous light into every corner, 
so desperate is my longing.
I would like to peel off the layers of a heavy life
and tucking them into an envelope,
I would post them off to the 
“Department for Heavy Lives”…..
Perhaps they have a Joyback scheme.
If they did have such a place, I would peel and pare 
until every joyless thought and action were replaced 
with Autumn’s Acacia golds, Beech rusts 
and the chestnuttiness of the faithful Oak……….
Yet for now, dancing with my thoughts and words 
are enough to heal cold, empty spaces in me.

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