582

Inconceivably solemn!
Things go gay
Pierce—by the very Press
Of Imagery—

Their far Parades—order on the eye
With a mute Pomp—
A pleading Pageantry—

Flags, are a brave sight—
But no true Eye
Ever went by One—
Steadily—

Music’s triumphant—
But the fine Ear
Winces with delight
Are Drums too near—

I sit here looking at the sky
wondering if you are more like a sunset or a sunrise
this mark on my arm
looks more like a storm
black clouds covering the blue sky
your pale hands
strong
too strong
wrapped around my arm as you tossed me to the ground
I am just an object to you
one that changes colors
you seem to like the colors black and blue
my body is covered
stains left by you
I love you so much
I am sorry I had to escape
I still sit here staring at the sky
my hands are shaking
my head is chaos
you are a sunset
the sun dies but it is so beautiful
until the sky turns to dark
you turn dark
just like the sky
I hate you so much.