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Despair
March 20, 2013
Her eyes,
Like ebony moons.
A sea of washed-out blue,
Wan.
Where hope was drained,
Collected in a jar the size of a thimble,
And thrown into the sun to burn and spark.
Where the flames would jump and leap and scorch,
Where the ash would fly and float and drift,
Against the azure sky of midnight,
Against a cloak of silver starlight,
She would slump against the cold bricks,
Downcast eyes,
No room for tears,
Despair.
© Sydney R., Pittsburgh, PA
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