Violet Cream

Violet cream.

A light, velvety lavender.

Such was the soft glow

of that particular night’s sky.

Hints of golden orange

blew in the clouds

because of the street lights.

The snow that covered the ground

and the rooftops of the suburb

reflected the celestial magic.

 

The road,

though surrounded with all this splendor,

was still black,

still motionless,

still hard.

It blackened any light it touched,

and hid any love it felt,

if it felt any love at all.

 

It’s hard to tell whether or not

she wanted the snow

or if she needed some time to herself,

or whatever roads think.

All I know is that the snow hasn’t touched her,

and a casual observer like myself

would say that the road

just wants to be left alone;

don’t we all?

 

What is it about snow

that reminds us how heartbroken we are?

The snow slowly conceals

the secrets that tease a terse soul;

the snow wants me to forget;

but I don’t want to forget.

 

She’s the road,

and the snow is time;

time isn’t hiding her from me.

Everything around her

is blending in the background,

but she is still hard,

still black,

still there,

and I don’t plan on letting her go.

Reviews

[kasG]

This is so poignant and deep. The first time I read it I didn't grasp its true depth until the beginning of the last stanza: "She's the road, and the snow is time." I read it again, and it struck me: the loss, the sorrow, the mourning. The determination to keep hold of something that is gone, the fear of forgetting details of a person lost to death, or a broken relationship. The slowness of Alzheimer's or dementia that slowly turns everything to hazy and snow, forgetfullness and confusion. Love lost and time creeping by to erase the vivid memories of that love. Beautifully tragic.

Brenden, you have outdone yourself with this one. Absolutely stellar.