by Portland Jones
pushing, pushing
let me closer
draped arms reach, fearing to touch
let me see, let me see not,
too bright is the Godhead.
They sit on cold, carved stone.
rising, rising
rustling wheat
jostling for light that warms to the end
sun god ripened seed
life sharp cut short.
Death, no long sad dying.
Thank you so much for sharing, Portland! I love the comparison you've drawn between the figures in the painting and 'rustling wheat' - very evocative!
If anyone else would like to share their work, do email them to me at nellie.cole@sky.com.
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