I’ve seen the colours of loneliness I’ve seen their moldering faces I’ve seen them fill the keening voids Of our broken, scattered places. It’s the grey of the sky just before it descends In blinding cascades Of granite and slate While waiting for that one special friend of the heart Who’s gone an infinite distance apart. Gone forever; not coming back. It’s the darkening shades of smoke and ash Stifling and choking. It’s emotional whiplash.
It’s the curdled russet and clotted yellow Of dying leaves Still on the trees. It’s the hope that once blossomed, Now just a vanishing dream; Like fading delusions; And fractured illusions. Like wasting ivy, still clinging tightly To the mottled, purple-bruised spaces within.
It’s the decayed red of old blood That has flowed and then congealed From scarred old wounds In the fallow fields Of the innermost corners of your being. It’s the throbbing new cuts of remembrance-pain That sear you with their scarlet heat Scorching your insides until there remain Only the rust-dripping embers of defeat.
It’s these mottled hues and grainy textures Of mangled hearts and hurting souls Its the piercing, stinging, strangling tightness In the pit of the stomach; in the back of the throat. In the end, it is all of this That make up the tinctures of loneliness That fill up all our sad and desolate spaces.