The world is blue.
Although life can be defined by the colours in which we parade, the earth itself lies resplendent under an emerald green jacket. For most people, a copse of trees or lush meadow define the idyllic. But not all.
For some, those identifiable dreamers, blue is the colour they aspire to be it ultramarine sea or cerulean sky.
Blue will fold around us when the green dies away.
Blue will be there when needed until our dying day.
A rippling reassurance when troubled. A turbulent chastisement when persuasion fails. Our droplet of universe.
The world is blue.
50 Word Stories – Another Day Won
The sun broke over a winter’s morning like crashing waves a cold, dark shore. It was more than a change of perspective, more than light versus night, rather, a reversal of fortunes, a gauntlet run and won. All it took was everything, and everything’s what it gave. Another day won.
50 Word Stories – Breathing in Unison
There are ever moments in lives made from many that demand savouring more than others. Every second should share the same values, the same high regard, and yet they don’t. For me, it’s those moments in the still of night when hearts collide and you realise you’re breathing in unison.
Naked in Hindsight
Like ivies entwined
Curling through the branches of life,
We made for the light
From out of totalitarian darkness.
We had to, you see.
Natural lovers chased by the mould,
The mildew of existence,
Seeking the comforts of shared warmths
And a quiet breath or two,
Yes, we tried.
Innocents, one might have said,
If free from society’s sharp tongues
And scathing accusations.
Or alternatively fools.
For the truth was,
The very essence of the situation,
We were naked in hindsight.
Weren’t we all?
In an extended world
Where circles are warped
Full of peaks and troughs
How do we know
How do we feel
When the journey
We once started
Has come full circle
Bring and buy sale: No renting.
50 Word Stories: Shattered Unseen
We both had terrible eyesight; it was the only way we could stand each other. So when she smashed my glasses in a fit of hormonal rage, I wasn’t that bothered. When she ran away and fell over our garden wall, I was less so. She’d smashed the wrong ones.