Complimentary Colours


If she stepped back,

rocked on her heels

and widened the angle,

she would see that

this birthmark,

this season of purple

bruising, is simply

a piece of the mosaic

that is painting her

life story in




hurricane lamp

Sometimes she’s afraid

that one day she’ll wake up

and her fractures

will break her;

dreams of integration,


elude and taunt her daymares.

Only one Artist

could find all her pieces

and lovingly fuse them together

along lines of love,

mending the mosaic;

dare she hope for dazzling?


She’s tried so hard for so long to hold herself together.

But with her hands so full of her own scars and seams,

she couldn’t stave off another blow.

At that last camel-breaking straw,

Resolve greeted Despair on the way down,

and threw Caution to the stormy wind,

an offering of sorts.

She always knew that the cracks would show,

but lied to herself that most needed lenses to see what she hid.

Every illusion is stripped to the bone now,

a skeleton dancing in an open closet.

What she cannot see through her swollen eyelids

is that her smashed pieces

are now ready, assembled in charming disarray for

the Artist to use.

He smiles –

the time has come at last.

He chooses carefully each tiny fragment

and inserts it into His mosaic,

smoothing away each crumbling edge with a practiced hand.

He trembles with anticipation –

this will be His best work yet,

His Masterpiece,

and His work, methodical and gentle,

purposeful and joyful,

radiates His face and lights His eyes

and draws a song to His clear tenor voice.

‘Smashed no longer,’ His notes croon,

‘Watch and see what I can do with these gemstones,

released from their stubborn casings,

glowing with My light and radiating My very Self!’

His smile electrifies the Milky Way as He arranges the parts into the whole.

She cannot hear the Voice – not yet.

She is still reeling from the smashing.

But she will.

She just needs to look up…