She dabbles in colors frequented by flowers
And casts shadows in the morning rain
She paints strips in monochrome blindness
When the spectrum of spring and autumn elude her.
She drowns out the monotony of life
With infusions of company long since dead
Then spends her nights wrestling them
Hoping to bring about change.
She pours herself a shot of reality
To dull the aching need
For something more than midnight whispers
And warmth that departs before dawn.
She waits out what seems like endless days
Counting petals on withered roses
Later cast into waning flames.
Moonlit Poetry 