When darkness turns to grey,
Dawn is on her way.
Rosy fingers touch the sky.
The birds begin to sing.
Lying in fretful wakefulness,
I fight a battle with faithfulness.
Troubles swarm in my head,
The day has barely begun.
Feet swing over to touch cold floor,
While inside I fight this war.
Melodies pass through the curtain,
Doing nothing to lessen the hurt.
Her life so short and her breath brief,
All we wanted was to keep,
Her here with us in this city.
But she left us for a garden.
Her means of travel was simple,
Brutally so, but also quite painful.
The pills sitting there on the counter,
All that stop me from leaving too.
Where grey dawn turns to gold,
I remember our times of old.
I whisper words for her to hear,
As I go about my life.
I'm not a serious poet, but my poems bring out the depressed person in me. This was written at the one year annaversery marking the passing of my friend Nicole.
