She doesn't know me, nor recognize me anymore,
as if the trees have changed shades of blue they never were
and dandelions have melted into an orange color.
She stood back in a shocked unacknowledgement
a painful stare right through my flustered skull
taking notice to every little ant but silly old me;
the chilled sizzles in her passionate eyes
passing by my attention seeking debonair,
easier than skipping stairs on her way
out of work every Friday afternoon.
she sometimes speaks to me, but the tides are shallow,
and our depths couldn't even bathe a babe.
Red flakes of the greatest nothing
incapable of breathing the slightest spark in her mind,
but her blazing hair has caught my attention.
Flaking embers that have sprinkled thousands of burnt marks
upon my coarse skin
like freckles stained to my body unable to be brushed off.
Her burnt heart is on my sleeve but I'm afraid not in my arms;
a fire pulsing through my veins like a slightly more addictive ******
because she is my little red, of course, from afar
and that is all I could ask for
no more, no less
because she is my little red

The world stood still,
our time we had to ****
lives dropped years
like hot wax on chandeliers

splattering our day to day
with matters of silver gray
of red, browns, greens and gold;
the sort of rainbow nobody ever told.

Not in fairytales nor magazines,
hot topics nor fresh cuisines
But in the eyes of trees
and suckle sweet honey bees

Day to day in the wood
where people wish they could
live out their troublesome ages--
freed from their pen and paper cages.

As if a god stopped each pedal drop
each bird's chirp and bunny hop
to be heard on trumpets high
in a day to day look at the glorious sky

a soft second when all is still
birds, babes, and a fawn, frozen at will
lifeless yet has utmost potential
delved in a growth exponential