Behind My House

The field behind my house was endless
Reaching out into forever through a haze of lime green
And impossible gold, like dust sprinkled
On the surface of a lacquered table that gleams
Beneath candlelight with whispers of fire dancing on
It. Like a ballerina leaping across an empty stage
Or a butterfly fluttering against the wind
Its multicoloured coat just like Joseph's, his father's
Gift, wrapped so tightly with love and pride
In crinkled paper that rustles beneath your fingertips,
Softly hissing like the blades of grass blown
By the wind, carrying the smell of the harvest,
The autumn leaves falling to the ground where
Tiny critters hide under heavy rocks of charcoal grey,
The colour of northern oceans before a storm,
Grumbling like a thunder cloud ready to burst,
Drenching the world in a curtain of misty rain
Like the translucent blinds across your window
That partially shields the morning sun from
The interiors of a cosy living room, very much lived in,
An inhabited shell that grows larger by the day,
Each shadow lit up with evidence of life like,
A street bustling with the everyday noises of
Car horns blaring, its klaxon ringing,
City lights zooming through the train's window,
Blurs of colour viewed from a bus,
One's life dashing through a person's eyes,
As they face death head on,
Running through the streets in breakneck speed,
Adrenaline pumping through arteries,
Electricity flashing through copper wires,
Lightning through the ebony skies,
Ignited like matches kissing the matchbox,
Energy in its simplest form, a sudden flare,
A declaration of love, the simplest of
Emotions that can be sparked, by the softest of words,
Or the most beautiful of springtime landscapes,
Depicted on a canvas by the painter's brushstrokes,
Colours of gold and a subtle lime green,
A blanket stretching out to forever
Like the endless field behind my house.