Poise yourself upon the throne,
Regal and drenched in a unique combination of prestige and power.
That is what it looks like at first glance.
It is the color of the robe you wear and the words you swear
As your back stiffens
And you stand-
Alone.
Then, another rises,
No longer are you alone.
It is the color of the flower
That they tuck behind your ear
As you both sneak past iron, spiral gates
Into the meadow, following fate.
It is the night sky above you
When their lips meet yours, engulfing your entirety
As warm hands brush your hips.
It is the dawn sky of each morning you wake up
Side by side,
And the secrets that you no longer have to keep.
It is the color of your veins, because it fills you to the brim,
It is your withered hand tucked within theirs
As you take each, slow step together,poised and unafraid,
Because you are no longer alone.
It is the color of the bouquet
That your children place upon your grave
As you sit next to him
For all eternity
Dressed in violet tributary.
YOU ARE READING
Where the Garden Ends
PoesíaWhere the garden ends, And weeds begin, Here, true living stems. A collection of poetry
