Blue Mourning

the blue dawn of my mornings,

marred by the mourning

of a theoretical death,

philosophical in nature

from the caterpillar’s cocoon,

ensconced in the treacherous maw of black

I wish to rise like a moth

and flutter near the light

the blue dawn of my mornings,

marred by the mourning

of a once colored canvas

that now sits grey

here lies the corpse of the days

where there were no greys

but the colored threads of fate

twisted and coiled to create

a mural of flower petals that gleamed in the sun

the blue dawn of my mornings,

marred by the mourning,

of the old days of sprite

where jubilee was suffused

from dusk to dawn

for the yellow rays of my days

are in no way a place

for my dedication to dolor

so, the blue dawn of my mornings,

I’ll allot to my mourning