The melancholy ache of knowing that all your favourite people are fictional,
The steady soaring of waves in an ocean,
The gentle breeze on an early autumn morning,
The excitement you feel when you finally spot a star in the polluted sky of the home you grew up in,
They were encapsulated in two tiny orbs,
The world was yours,
Then, in a flash,
It was gone.
You let her fall,
You laughed and snapped a picture,
It was all in sport,
Was it not?
She slipped through your fingers,
Slowly, though you didn't notice,
How could you,
You were too busy running them through another's hair.
Her smile faltered everyday,
In your presence it was coloured in,
But in the darkness it faded away.
You were once her match,
She was your light,
Then came a harsh wind,
And in an instant,
The walls caved in.
She sits now,
Alone, afraid,
But determined to be brave,
Repentance will surround you one day,
Your hands will flail wildly,
Trying to catch the ghost of a spark,
But all that meets you is the dark.
Perhaps a banshee-like scream will escape you,
Long after it's left her lips,
For now is her voice lost,
Now is her heart entombed in frost.
Her fortress towers are higher than they have ever been,
Hopelessness reigns from the Queen's throne,
From where her heart sat once too long ago,
It's locked up in chains now,
The dungeon is a maximum security prison.
Those two orbs,
They shone brightly,
In your memory they live,
They haunt you,
A sight you will never see again.
YOU ARE READING
Yellow Paint
Poetry"Yellow Paint" is a collection of my experiences with the turbulence of everyday teenage life in the form of poetry, random thoughts and rants. The name comes from a rumour involving Van Gogh, which says that he used to eat yellow paint because he...
