This was the poem I wrote and for the first time thought, maybe I’m not too bad at this.
Written in about 2008, titled December.
Like crushed velvet, she wept her decorum,
In rivers of red cherry wine,
Drinking for those that were before him,
Those that once called her mine.
Envision those moments that shine,
Like the gems within her.
Dazzles so cruel to remind
Of my darling, December.
Say my love, of a will to console,
Bubbled in chilled champagne
A scar on the skin of her soul
A mark that no one can claim.
Say my love, of one broken fame
Don’t you remember
There was a time when you longed for my name
And my love, December
Lipstick kissed on the memory
A rouge that’s smudged and faded
Reapplied with the desire to be
The dreamer who made it
Sad eye gilded and jaded
Shined bright as an ember
The summer of hopes that were dated
My hope, December
She smoked her life in a cigarette
Watching the crows surround
The smoke won’t curl while it’s wet
The crows won’t cry on the ground
When she sings she will find her renown
If the bottle don’t kill her
And the ash will add to the sound
Of the birds in December
The struggles embedded are seeming
Chipped like the nais that know
A black that melts with meaning
Contrast in her snow
It’s the next summer who will show
The roses within in
But despite, the wine will flow.
Til again, December.