Blue Lobelia, Red Hair, Black Dress

Door of decaying wooda pounding knock like

Peeling funeral bells

Vices of prejudice at the price of freedom

A prayer warped by desperation to a divinity

As divine as my right for salvation, apparently


Lobelia on the stone engraved, where I lay

The color of the man in blue, and

The vibrant hue of your hair the last I saw it

But then again you’ve probably changed it

You did that a lot


Maybe to yellow like daffodils in spring  or

Perhaps to the purple of a star-flecked sky but

More likely you dyed it a brilliant red like

Furious revenge, a fiery crown on your head

It contrasts with the black of your dress

What are you looking for?