The Colours

After a gap of months, or maybe even years, I've written another poem.  I think you can be safe to assume my recovery is taking its time.

The Colours

Lonely isn't always blue.

The aching cold is sometimes grey.
Relentless,
Or ebbing lilac.

But sometimes pink,
Tinged with the order
You have made from the silence.
Yours to contain.

The cream of the sheets
Can assault the senses.
As just for a moment,
You turn your head
And catch him in the air.
Did you dream that memory?
Again.

But the bright green of the leaves
Sparkle in the morning sunshine.
Filling the heart with a moment of joy.

Just a moment.

Still. Joy,
For a moment,
Not blue.