January 24, 2011
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Her lilac lips,
And silver hair,
Her grandmother hands,
And soft eyes.

Her silver hair,
Paired with golden-rimmed glasses,
Her grandmother hands,
And soft eyes.

Her grandmother hands,
With her long, bony, fingers.
She had lilac lips,
Paired with soft eyes.

Her soft eyes,
Blue and desolate.
She was lonely in her thoughts,
With her silver hair tied in a knot.
And her grandmother hands wiping away tears.

Her lilac lips,
Pursed together to form
Silver, soft, grandmother words.
Her soft blue eyes,
Forlorn and genuine.
Her silver hair more tangled now.

Her golden-rimmed glasses,
Looked crooked on her face.
Her soft ocean eyes,
Sat above her lilac lips.

She was lonely,
Her grandmother hands were dirty.
Her ocean eyes were polluted,
But still soft.
Old and mistreated,
Her grandmother hands
Created earthquakes and tornados.
Her angry snake eyes.

Her torn silver hair,
Paired with broken glasses,
Her soft eyes,
Were not soft anymore.

Her lilac lips,
Chapped and cut.
Her silver, soft armchair
She rested in.
Watching her own deterioration.

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