Violet

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Boots crunch on snow.
It is really
too early, I think,
for this long walk home.
My shadow is my only company
but I recall days when
they would fight, debate, outwit each other
for the honour.
I was a queen among them.

Long gone, the days
when violet hair meant One of Them.
Long gone the days
when my cheating ways
meant half a chance, a stolen kiss,
the prospect of becoming king.

We are all so hopeful,
and so blind,
believing in everything contrary
to the truth, because we don't dare
to suppose that we may know it.
We would rather pretend we know.

I stop to admire the rising sun,
and think:
My hair must've grown out
a thousand times since then.

Funny to think of hair,
when it's twenty below
without the windchill factor,
and you feel like a block of ice.
Funny to watch the sun,
a fiery crystal ball
that only shows the present,
casting shadows that offer solid proof
that you are alone,
and always have been,
when you would rather pretend you know.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at When Memory Fades
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

To visit all of Crystal Dawn Allen's poems, click HERE

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