Green
is the color of the trees,
the luscious spring grass
that sparkles in the
creamy April sunshine
as I gaze outward
from atop the
monkey bars.

Sweet nectar of
honeysuckle and lavender,
a chorus
reverberating in my eardrums
of children giggling,
swings creaking,
runners thumping by.

I think of you,
your delicious warmth
that abruptly turned cold,
the chill and goosebumps
trickling up my arms.

I blink hard in the light,
brain processing thoughts
jumbled with
sadness
and
strength,
muddled with a dollop of regret,
sprinkled with
perpetuated curiosity.

The almost-turqouise sky,
toward it I stare,
longingly
in attempts to solve
the mysteries circling
my ever-chattering
mind.

Such simplicity
I see in this spring day,
at the playground
where I search
for my own
tranquility and ease.

Will I find
the answers
in the white buds blooming
on the bushes?
Or in the innocent smile
of a girl, no more than one year,
legs kicking jubilantly
as she swings high,
back and forth?
Perhaps then
hidden behind
the trunk of that tree
where a young couple
shares a secret,
sealed with a tender kiss?

Green are the trees and grass,
flowers dressed in beautiful
shades
of pink, purple, and blue,
sun bright yellow,
orange too;

my insides bleeding red,
your name
etched still,
carved into my
wooden heart;
I
bleed
out
all
last
thoughts
of you.

Closing my eyes
to all shades
of rouge,
I reopen
and take in spring,
take in the scent of the air,
take in the green.
You are gone.