Crimson
 


. 
Crimson shades long since drawn,
color fading like the sunlight
as the day slips bye.
And the dusk settles in,
mists of white, clouded, murky then gray.


Like strawberry to squirrel
once fresh on the vine, full.
Then left to scamper, to scatter
to herd what is left before winter comes.
And then to vanish as she falls -
maybe to return the next spring, if it comes.
Perhaps to perish like the Autumn leaves
askew, or to form the fingers of an icicles tears.
Crimson drapes fading, falling, so does the light.
Have her prayers, her cries,
fallen on deaf ears, dumb tongues?


A dress of sorrow cinched by a belt of pride
being torn and worn away
by, the thrust of those
who wish them to that forgotten place.
She cannot breathe, not now,
not when the air is stale and dead.
And what's hers is ripped away.
Crimson shades, falling, fading, almost asleep.
Yet, with blush in cheek
she fights for that she's been denied,
the promise which is hers.

Crimson to steel, strawberry to gray
Color dulls, like the eyes,
like our cries,
so, like the lies
of Peace.

November 14, 1970
By Lady LaMythica (Linda A. Copp)

Copyright Linda A Copp a.k.a. Lady LaMythica 1971 to 2020©



 poetry  webmistress LaMythica
 Copyright Linda A Copp a.k.a. Lady LaMythica 2000 to 2020©  

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