Snapshots of Hue


When they both shuffled on the old gym floor

it was the shade of the swish of her dress.

When her lips meet his, he’s wishing for more

 the twirl of her shoes as he missteps

The hue of his heart, beating, thundering

as she falls into his trembling arms

Hoping she hears through all of his mumbling

A pale blush when she works her charms

It’s the stain she leaves as a kiss he takes

Her pounding pulse as he spins her about

it’s the rose he gives her on that first date

The splash of laughter as they take a bow

It’s the broiling burn she leaves on his lips

And the trail of his eyes on her swinging hips



Men and women bedecked in shining golds

The maid of the day garbed in gleaming white

In her grip a shower of marigolds

A young man stands in the front, his eyes bright

A golden ring clenched in shuddering hands

Her hair twisted up as she flutters down

Flaxen trails behind her entrance so grand

Sheer fabric cradled to a crystal crown

His eyes stare as she forward sways

With relative’s (both his and hers) support

They walk together through the shower of grain

The trail of clanking cans a tied escort

A gold rose held by a pair of gold rings

A resplendent kiss and golden hearts sing



When the doctors shuffle out the bleak door

It was the shade of his gasps of distress

As her lips meet his, he’s wishing for more

The swirl of her eyes as he regrets

The hue of his hands gripping, shuddering

The swish of her gown as he helps her stand

They sway back and forth her form trembling

She shudders and leans heavily on his hand

It’s the stain he leaves as last kiss he takes

Her beeping machine as she slides away

It’s the kiss he gives her as his heart breaks

The splash of love as he dismays

It’s the freezing burn she leaves on his lips

It’s the longing look he gives when she slips



Both men and women shroud in charcoal grey

The guest of honor draped in gleaming white

A league of lilies frame her in display

An old man sits in front, his eyes are bright

A silvery rose is clenched in withered hands

Her hair twirled up as she is laid to rest

The twisted scraps of dress still in that land

Had departed beyond this mortal press

To where he cannot travel to her sways

With relative’s (both close and far) support

He walks on through the drizzling spray

The trail of umbrellas in an escort

A silvery rose laid on gray granite

As he looks on what their life was granted


This poem is about: 
My family
Our world


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