Butterflies stopped visiting the meadow
the year your light went out.
Daffodils were joyless and sadness
weighed down the Barn owl’s flight.
The sun struggled to do it’s yellow best,
the moon simmered in shock.
One hundred fireworks refused to shower the night sky
with color, rain was colder and stung my face red.
Traffic became exhausted and biscuits stale.
My coffee, cold and clingy.
Peacocks screamed your name that night
Tossing it to-and-fro with wretched joy.
And now I sit, vodka-eyed, watching the walls cry,
my shale grey grief decorating the room like
broken fingernails.
Photo Credit: -Jeffrey- Flickr via Compfight cc
Thank you SO much. It means everything to have you enjoy my words. You’ve both made my year xxxx
**And now I sit, vodka-eyed, watching the walls cry,**
S T U N N I N G.
I absolutely lOVE this poem. x
“Traffic became exhausted and biscuits stale”
I love the picture you paint with your words. You ARE the queen, Miss VoleQueen. ~D.