Tincture

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A night the opposite of the cerulean day;

The deepest dark surrounds her;

Complete with shadows, grey and mottled,

Stretching long

All around

~

The deft illusion

That would mold….

No, MOLD her

(instead of dessicating into another

form, she pushes forward, into the color-absent night)

~

she walks

~

the greys, the blacks, combine to imbibe her

~

when she finds an

open car door

~

(it’s 3 AM) and she should

be….

~

She looks in

~

The shadows the

Normalcy of nothing

Scares her

~

As the dearth of colors keep

Her walking

2 thoughts on “Tincture

  1. Amy,
    This is strong writing and admirably with a well thought through motif. i like it very much indeed, it speaks to me.

    Best Wishes

    john

  2. John,
    Thank you very much for your kind words. This poem went through more drafts than most. I am ever trying to improve.

    Take care,

    Amy

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