Perhaps the mountains show the strength
I keep so well hidden, but I think of
skyscrapers, when I’m lost, and dream of little
boys I knew, before the mountains crumbled.
Can you tell me how many  pots of gold to search for
before I realise I am entirely sure the rainbow is just strips of light
that mean only one short moment of delight
before despair sets in again?
You can tell me nothing, because I am nobody to you.
Yet once I made the rainbow for you, and when it rained
I kept you dry.
I don’t know where your heart beats now, or who it beats for.
You don’t know who I cry for, because you do not know yourself.
You never did.
The sounds around you lent you someone I could not recognise.
The skyscrapers were ours no more,
and our hearts beat in different hills.
Now I know you never could have shared those mountains,
that they were mine alone.
I have tried to climb,
but my legs have turned so weary.
I wonder, can I keep on climbing?
Even walking this new path has me dried up, my turn has gone.
Now I must stand still.
Perhaps the stillness will be my companion.
It is loneliness I never imagined the mountains would allow.
I dream of being back, when they were friends.
But dreams are not rainbows, because they hold no magic.
I must now find solace in solidity.
I must realise cold hard earth has beauty , too.
And I must carve it into something small, but real.
The mountains have crumbled, the skyscrapers are dust,
I have only this, this cold red clay, and when it rains,
I will shelter alone.

Photo by Bonnie Kittle on Unsplash

Emily Rosier

For as long as Emily Rosier can remember, she has kept sketchpads and notebooks, filled with the pages of her life, in words and images. They remind her of moments of her life, sometimes joyful, sometimes painful, and occasionally they surprise her by recalling the depth of feeling she experienced, and the strange recognition of herself, changed over the years.