I Am Golden Honey

When I was six my color was golden.

Fingers dipped in folds of honey colored sunlight

As I made my mark across the grey scales of childhood,

my artistic canvas entrusted to me to

bring forth Fall to drive away the harsh waves

of scouring heat

I was magical, ethereal

Nothing could wash me away.

Then stormy clouds of deafening black

swirled among my horizon

Covering the gold I so proudly painted and

swept away my youthful innocence to bring

in the pains of age and a blustering flurry of Winter hues

My golden presence dripped out

of my grasping hands and became an ugly red

Marred by purple and revolting blue

Painting me in the scars of my 16th year

The cruelty of winter covered my land at 18,

making the beauty of white sour into biting

cold and ugly grays.

Desolate lands of loneliness became my destiny

I stayed frozen, trapped in the screams

of howling winds that cry out loudly as crows do

when having found their next meal,

"Tainted! Broken!" They howled and squawked

Ravenous vultures circling overhead,

leaving me to trace over the scathing scarlet scars

That would never disappear.

And then at twenty, a sea of grass had

bloomed.

The color of the softest green, filling

my land with the scent of freedom and

the beauty of thawing my icy floors.

Its wondrous waves lapped at my feet joyfully,

its vibrancy beckoning me to stand as

it swirled around and rose to my fingertips,

igniting a feeling long forgotten

So calm and sweet as yellow, hopeful and pleading

as pink

To return what had been stolen

The dark spots of glaring purple hues

intertwined with red

Dispelled at its touch and became as

Golden honey

Praising with gentle songs of healing white

of the strong spirit I am,

And that could never be washed away.