There was a chair –
it kneeled in reverence to my despair,
bleeding inertia into my spirit.
Sometimes life passes over the senses without making a mark,
death is a parade ‘just passing through’,
the soul watches without a view.
Sadness is self-indulgent –
as a foreign body enters,
our spirit seeks to hide,
pulling at the coattails of our paternity.
Laughter is a warming soup,
dished out beyond all disguise –
loved for each ingredient,
enjoyed without waste.
There was a chair –
it kneeled in reverence to my care,
returning colour to my soul.