Oh, but does the mourning mother miss him so!
In the trailing yellows of sunset she sees him,
In the bed he used to dream in, now but a
pristine stain of blue against white, displaying the vague outline of
used-to-be times and the drool stain that she
couldn't wash off with tears
On the walls hung portraits of silence
(Was it just her or did the smile seem forced all of a sudden)
They stared with canvas eyes and
whispered footsteps that ran up and down and up screaming
Fly away butterfly, fly!
Fly, fly, fly!
And fly it did, crash-landing into a web of disaster--
Its black mistress spinning him round and round and round her
scarlet hourglass figure
Time lost its meaning that night,
Trapped in an endless labyrinth of dead-ends and
rubber bands he'd use to make constellations with
Imprisoned within the suffocating
Haze of thoughts, memories she didn't want to unlock
and smoke.
Smoke- slithering its way into the sky, smoke
coiling around its mangled metal corpse.
He was gone before the smoke had risen,
leaving her to sweep up the broken pieces of herself;
They bit savagely into her palms but the numbness:
It built a fortress of steel around her:
Impenetrable.
A mother's grief.
