Inside, close, is nursed a secret dream.
One that cannot yet be freed.
A fleeting hope, a melody,As yet uncaught, pinned down into reality.
A whispered promise from young lips
Translated from new feeling
To older, deeper meaning.
Sealed with a stone and one long kiss.
Setting new scenes.
The bells ring.
The sunlight streams as up she steps
On her father's arm
Riding a rainbow of light.
Refracted white.
But pause.
There's no fairytales here,
Just spools of reality.
To shelter and protect
But to be sheltered and protected too.
To love and be loved.
Dream and share dreams.
The stitch pulled tight.
And the dress will not be white
(That lack of life, blank, washed out, unlived in hue)
But red for passion,
Gold for the lighted eyes and sunlight kisses,
Blushed purple at the sleeve tips where the tears of tiny sorrows
Stained the red with their faint blue.
Silver for the clarity of the vow
A talcum-smelling yellow for curled hands, rosé'd cheeks and downy hair.
Unblemished.
And all the flashing dyes of life:
The green of grass and sea and new situations.
The grey of mundane days
That must be lived.
(Though do not disregard the shining spark which nestles in monotony).
A rose-blushed love madder with tenderness
The deep, midnight, ocean-depths blue of long, warm nights in each other's arms.
The colours swell, ablaze
The light explodes and past, present, future bleed into one another
Spread across the room.
In one step.
A breath intook.
So one day, when my grandchildren ask about the picture,
I can look, and smile, and simply say
'The Bride Did Not Wear White'.
