The Violets Of The Spring Poem by Emma Atkinson

Your shadow lurks beneath my eyelash,
Half shut in a mid-morning daydream,
Or lost to the throngs of the night,
Where candles flicker, and nothing is as it seems.

Your eyes, the green-grey of window panes
That turn the world to glass,
Reflecting only shattered shadows,
Glint where mine should be.

Your smile- it seems the whole world stole it,
Wrote it on every face, and somehow got it wrong,
A flicker lost to illusion,
Almost...But in the instant, gone.

Your voice is cupped in the crevice of my ear.
I hear it always, the aftermath of blasting a song you love,
A never-ending echo, growing soft only in the silence,
Deafening as the thunder above.

Your love, a thing I once called mine
Was taken by slow and silent distance,
That in the end won out, tangled in the tresses of memory
Whose whims are daughters of chance.

You, you will not return to me, though I return to you,
Hold out my heart amid the violets of the spring,
Waiting for you to remember me again,
And in that hope lies everything.