New Light

Low light, plum sky, the moon shown bright.

Soft blue, a hue of trust built over time.

Green grass lay wet beneath our feet in fright.

This ruse in hues of love was not a crime.

Your voice laments your choice but I decry.

My gaze fixed by the light of night’s gold fire.

Words fly in hues of rouge, love lost, goodbye.

Good try, you cry. I see in you a lyre.

One who used to play chords with grace and care.

Now broken, frayed, few strings remain to claim.

An amber harp compact, unbound, and bare.

No need in me to play its angry frame.

That love once blind and true had new dreams fraught.

Tonight’s new moon shown bright, new songs were taught.