Silver

Silver is a cold winter wind,

the clink of a royal glass.

It is the broach of your wise grandmother.

You are the sparkling wine a father used to kindle romance,

a lonely mic waiting for her to gain courage.

Silver is the refreshing delight of the first snowflake to fall,

the mirror you watched yourself cry in.

It is the knife your best friend used to arch a slit in your back.

You are my bitter sweet taste of regret,

a twinkling coin hidden in the snow, waiting to make a curious child's day

Silver is the medal my mother slaved to achieve,

the promise ring that became a lie.

It is the necklace passed down generations.

You are the glaze of lip gloss she used to wear,

A never ending dream.

Silver is the lock that relieves your paranoia,

the handcuffs that hold you up for your mistakes.

It is the dress saved for prom.

You are the tradition on Christmas morning,

A siblings favourite ornament.

Silver is the rich man’s scowl,

The swaying of the chimes hung outside the chapel.

It is the glint in the eyes of my beloved.

You are the advocate of selfishness,

A star that tries to shine for the forlorn soul at witching hours.

By: Angel Richards