The Rainbow That Cries.
The river is clean, rippled, liquid glass,
I see a reflection that is not my own.
A mirror, a ghost of you. Me.
The world has not changed -
The trees still reach with yearning arms towards the empty sky.
The wind still moans, tired, losing it's way.
There is still a day. Still a night.
Still time that tumbles, carries me away, too fast,
A pulse too fast to live.