One Easter, the words ‘bruised by purple clouds’ kept ringing in my mind.  I could not move past them; I could not forget them.  I knew the only way to free myself of them was to write them down.  When I did so, the words poured out of my pen – and ‘For Life …’ came into being.  I only realised what I had written when I read it through after I had placed the final question mark on the page.  What love is this …?  Do you know this love?

For Life …

The sky was bruised by purple clouds

With tentacles of mist like evil fingers

Brushing the tops of nearby hills,

And all the world fell silent.

One by one all living things

Scarcely dared to draw breath

But stood and watched in horrid awe;

Even the earth itself, the rocks and stones,

Seemed to be suspended in this hour

Of darkness and pain.

Creation, shattered to her very core,

Silently screamed her anguish,

A cry that echoed through the ages,

Through infinity.

For there, in bleeding agony,

Impaled on spars of rough-hewn wood

Hung Life itself – creation’s Source –

Enduring sin and desolation;

Separation from Companions of eternity

To bring salvation and eternal life

To humankind.

What love is this …?