The cushion is surrounded by frothy rings
Of shadow. She slumps there, with her heart.
It's cracks remain. Emotions seem to move slower
than the chords of a ballad. She’s alone.
The mauvey marbles spread along her face
Only one wish is to forget those things
Sweet amber smells and delicious words
Her eyes though, still stuck on the thing
She most wishes to forget. There once
Was a time when peaches were very ripe
When the mess of mind felt organized
The key at the end of the tunnel was found
The passion was there, gentle but strong
With foundations of disobedience and hormones
Under the streamlined white warmth coming down
From the sun, they were one with the trees.
Unnoticed hours passed, jumping hearts
The ninth cloud became the unerasable image
The love geese had found each other , it seemed clear
But the tunnel was, in a way, too narrow.
Her home lay in the thick of cloud nine
A beacon of yellow in a gray world
Floating in wreaths of endless possibilities, holly.
These goals wrapped in naiveties of future.
G-d is not the puppeteer. We are not his puppets.
Exactly what we put in makes us who we are
Successes defined by money in this hedon world
This was his mind, an outcome of his tarnished past.
For a while, these two minds complemented each other
Strings of hope held tight between their fingers
Gazing eyes connected with serious smiles, always.
Roadblocks fueled both parties with fiery overlaps.
Through the seasons, the fruits of labor ripened
Foundations sometimes cracked and opposites
Fought the passion and faded it into something else
The amber sweet smells started to feel temporary.
The yellow beacon wasn’t strong enough. Naiveties.
Try convincing a concrete wall to stop being concrete.
And then he said those four words that closed them
Through tears, “I can’t believe anymore”
--
Now, streams of tainted words wrap themselves around
Her mind until no more pain can come.
The streams squeeze her until she is numb.
Oaths are lies when they don’t come true.
But it’s finally over. She can rest now, supposedly.
No, her mind cycles faster to attempt to unravel
Those mangled tainted words she can’t forget.
The scars slowly peal their way off, sometimes.
Like tattoos that wear off. The thinking cures.
Beating odds. Breaking rules. None of that.
Only childish pulls now. Lies. Expired with the milk.
But with each day, those words loosen hold.
But still, melancholy overstays her welcome.
Was it ever true? Why did it happen? Questions
Remain embossed on her face, no plan to leave.
Now, her gates are shut tight, the shade is only mauve.
She locks the gates and throws the keys out.
Keys have no use for questions without answers.
The yellow beacon is mute for now. Change wonders
if she will ever creep into her jaded soul. 
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