You took the sun with you when you left.
Now when I wake up in the mornings, the sun doesn't shine through my window.
Now, its beams don't penetrate the strands of your hair, turning them into honey.
Now, I can't feel the warmth of the suns rays on the surface of your skin.
I can't see it's golden glow reflected in your eyes, or lay beside you in the grass, bathing in its light.
There's no sun in the sky when I look up.
Only the icy rays of moonlight.
Everyday has been overcast since you were taken from me.
I think I need to make peace with the moonlight.
-Brianna Cecille Blades
YOU ARE READING
In the Afternoon
PoetryCHRONICLES OF CROWN AND CASUALTY BOOK 3- Everyone wished they were like her. The definition of propriety and popularity. She wore wildflowers in her hair... A collection of poems by and about the Lady of Lancaster.
