Widowed Youth

I look to the glass door,
shutting out wisps
of the hollow conversation
that has come to frame my longing
for pink skies.

Those reveries,
uncut and polished,
still glint in the darkness of my mind.

And yet,
I swallow the rose-coloured shards
that have come to stain my hands black
from all dreams
that fell away.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s