I lay restlessly, upon the sheets of my bed, now soaked with perspiration. I tried in vain to sleep but drifted in and out of what I came to believe were the realities of my night.
I could see you there as real as though you were standing by my bed. “You are my comfort”, I told you. “You are my angel”. You give me your strength night after long night and even though you fade with the morning light, I know you will come to me again.
The window though closed seemed to be open and the leaves of the tree outside drifted inside. They fell to the floor to accumulate like a soft carpet and fell atop my pillow by my head. Each night these were my realities. I called to you and you came as though no walls could hinder your presence by my bed.
Beacon of darkest night
Portent of life
Guardian of my soul
You could have been a dream but each night you returned when I called. Who is to say what is real.
© July 2017 Renee Espriu
I quickly took out my watercolors and acrylics to create something to go with this newest post. I had been thinking of this image and so rather than ponder it too much, which I have a tendancy to do, I painted what it was my mind saw.
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