07 August 2013

Etched In Fauve




The unease remains long after the pain ebbs
there’s no going back to that innocence once
etched in fauve dimensionally, of relief with
flows and swirls familiarity; was it naiveté or
an age growing ripe with self-belief, too long
coming to suppress easily, too far gone to be
excused for incurable words expressed; at its
end parting was the only real sanity left


Yet enmity played no role; envy perhaps, say
an inimitable sufferance blanched by its time-
honoured duty at stake – or forgiveness worn
handsomely as a mother’s veil. There were no
recriminations, no threats other than onset of
aching loneliness still evidenced this day
© 27 July 2013, I. D. Carswell