The rot in your hair is turning grey;
The growth is dying, the colour fading away
And you gather your thoughts towards decay
You were hoping for green thoughts in green shades
For crimson strawberries quashed beneath your feet
For golden peaches you dared eat
To dangle tantalizing just out of reach
You were hoping for bleached out roots in the garden of your loss
For vibrant streaks to grow, shockingly, out of the dullness
For dyes to drown out age, for gels to smooth
All that is caught in the tangles of your branches
You were hoping for oceans of colour, the red seas
You’ve left behind in the deserts you now wander
For that mountains tall and pale, cold and barren,
Might yet house monsters waiting to tell their life stories.
You were hoping for long sunlit summers
For the winds that blow fall foliage
into spirals of hectic red and yellow to tell you
That winter comes, but spring is close behind
You were hoping for ashes to remain ashes
That they may not realize an ashen world
For loss to lay buried and forgot
Amidst the colour and the life.
Your search for some semblance of life began in the mirror.
