I sit on a griever's throne
lulled by a broken world
crying itself to sleep.

Singing verses of melancholia
when those sepia dreams
hanging behind my eyelids
are sliding into the
yesterdays when you were
a portrait of pulchritude.

Barefooted on the shoreline,
you were dancing to the
music of waves pushed by
the seaborne breeze.
Your smile was an invitation
to the unknown. I was lost
in the wake of your nature.

Love, I can recall those days
when opalescent stars pulsed
deep in your eyes
and the sun tinted you
into a soft gleam of ivory.
You were my Vesna Krasna.

I hung a light outside
my window, but I never heard
you singing another
lullaby again or driving by
to anchor the moon above
my roof. Was the sun
too much for you, Snegurochka?

There are no words
in my chest tonight.
I cannot paint you anymore.
There aren't any colors left.