The sky transitions from yellow to orange,
From orange to red, and red to dusk.
Her snowy hair and diamond skin
Render its final sparkle before the sun sleeps.
Fallen royalty, she is.
I met her at the crossroads
On a path leading somewhere, and to nowhere.
We shared the moment of anguish.
“Your majesty,” I say
But her gentle yet worn hands cover my words.
“Shh,” her eyes tell me.
No interest in words of the past,
No desire to venture towards the future, no.
Instead we stand in silence
Allowing the burden of hope to settle in.
The sadness behind her beauty is daunting.
She has known love before,
But never felt the warmth of being in it.
Her tears are figurative, for I know the look.
My hand searches for hers and
We watch the darkness swallow the sun.
“I’ll be dead by morning, oh the night is young.
I’ll be dead by morning, my final song is sung.”