Treasure Island

Alven L. Robinson


The Colored Pills


The colored pills,

the silent wills of mood,

lay untouched beside her bed - -

the plastic cup a brew, a sorcery of view

now left behind, abandoned to a time,

a trail blind, inclined toward a light,

enigma's flight waiting after all,

calling to an image - - the lineage of a mind,

the thought, the spirit caught, wandering

to a place, a space, the repose of embrace,

before returning once again, and again

to the room...the whiteness looming in the walls,

the crawling hours bleeding,

watch towers receding with the time;

the days, the years, the pearl tears divine,

flowing down her face, withered fingers

left to trace, along the shadow lines - -

the signs of change - - the chains

of eighty years, now etched into the past,

life fragments amber cast,

fading into frames, each pictured name a face,

the tattered lace of friends, departed

songs of then, brief notes to answer when

or where, the something there

seen through the window pane,

beyond the pain, the waning tree,

the grey of green, the sky, the scene,

- - all outside - - the voices hiding in the leaves,

the restless calling to believe,

now muted through the glass - -

the whispered wind

gently slipping from her grasp.

Submitted: Thursday, June 12, 2014
Edited: Saturday, June 21, 2014

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Topic(s): death of a friend

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