Blue

Sadness lurks on the street like an ancient greyhound—forlorn, lonely, With a heavy satchel strapped on his back, slowly limping on the road To nowhere. The rest of the known world has deserted him—left Him to survive on his own, drowning in his own Tears—dying for air, trying to escape This cruel, cold abyss of no return. Trying to wind his way through the melancholy maze, he is sure that his return Back to the path of happiness is imminent. However, he is wrong—for the lonely Trail is endless; there is no hope of escape. Snaking its way towards the horizon, the road Seems short. The ignorant greyhound hastens his pace, trying to find his own Way out of this cruel, cold abyss of no return with all he has left. He sees tattered old buildings, hunching forward to his left, And on his right, broken streetlights return His gaze and he glances away, thinking of his own Life and how his dejected, lonely Being will never again embrace love, for the road Ahead is long, and there is no hope of escape. It is known to him that all means of escape Is futile—but is there really no hope? He is left With anguish, ail, and an aching in his old heart, yet the road Still continues to provoke him, telling him that the return Of a life of joy and peace is impossible, dissuading his lonely Spirit to press on, for now, he is on his own. Overwhelmed with pain and bitterness, his own Conscience heckles his ability to keep moving forward, and he tries to escape It too. Reminiscing, he remembers his jovial past, how he wasn’t lonely Or sorrowful. Now, all he has left Is his satchel of burdens, wishing he could somehow, some way, return Back to his old life and onto a more promising road. Limping and whimpering, the tired greyhound sits on the side of the road And something alluring abducts his attention. His own Discolored eyes cannot believe such an oddity and does not return A notion of reality nor understanding. A blue rose. It is his escape To a world of fantasy—that anything is possible—for it is all he has left To hope for, and it keeps him company and not so lonely. The ancient greyhound, forlorn and lonely, continues limping down the long and winding road, With a heavy satchel strapped on his back, left to venture out on his own With no escape but a blue rose he hopes will carry him through this cruel, cold abyss of no return.