The Cliffs Are Not White

The Cliffs Are Not White

The cliffs are not white.

Do not let them deceive you.

No, the cliffs are not white.

We watch their towering presence.

They are the colour

Of welcome, of departure,

Of love and loss,

Of greeting and farewell,

Of sanctity, sanctuary and life,

Of sadness, despair and death.

The cliffs are not white.

Do not let them fool you.

No, the cliffs are not white.

They are different colours

to different people - they are

The grey of uncertainty,

The flecked green of hope,

The crumbling pale chalk of fragility,

The new-day pink of friendship,

The fading brown of impermanence.

The cliffs are not white.

Do not let them trick you.

No, the cliffs are not white.

Time has changed their hue

And colours taint each person's view.

They are the black of wartime,

They are the red, white and blue of victory,

They are the sea-green of history,

They are the ash-waves of the refugee,

They are the pebble-slate-clean of new opportunity.

The cliffs are not white.

Do not let them convince you

That they are white and will ever be.

For the cliffs are painted

With nature's pallete,

With our memories and hopes,

With newcomers and forever leavers,

With our past and present and futures,

With all our experiences.

The cliffs are not white.

They are whatever colour

you wish them to be.

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A Poem a Day Day 54/365