There winds of time have slowed and his heart begins to race,
Fertile fields fall barren as he halts agape in place,
Rooted by distress, confirmed with but a glimpse,
Waiting, hollow for the cry, his mind begins to wince,
Seeing black, then red, now ivory and gold,
All smeared with agony and stories never told,
The color wheel awhirl in worlds beyond the spectrum's grasp,
Crashes down, back through his skull and from his mouth of glass,
Spews a bemuddled clarity of hue and saturation,
Shattering the silence, forsaking the situation.
Stealing a breath, the dull air comes by prying,
To lungs, to blood to a pulsing heart of iron,
Over used and over looked, this wound cannot appease,
For rust coats it now, and captives get no pleas.
She still has him, the only one who understands,
But he is gone now, thanks to popular demand,
From behind closed eyelids her eyes stare into his,
But as long as they will live, someone will forbid.
This post was edited by namyellit on Jul 21 2010 11:32pm