Under The Veil Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Colors soften
under a patina of frost.
All that’s left of the original tint
resides in the film footage
of our memory,
though antiqued there now
and sepia-toned
by the mach-speed
of time.

I wonder if faces
are like that.
The rimy shadows
of pain and suffering,
those coldsnaps of turmoil,
descend over a visage
like a white wedding veil
concealing the innocent
softness there,
muting the illumination there,
like a summer garden
blanketed with frost
or covered with ashes.

Just as May faithfully melts
the frost,
maybe a warm convection of summer thoughts
will lift the veil
and disperse the ashes
and restore us to
our original glow.