Cynicism

Cynicism

Dominick Parisi

I remember the clean green, smell,
A fragrance of freshly cut grass,
Now I smell the musty gray,
Of molding, withered hay,

I remember the blue hue of dawn,
The naïve faith at Mass on Sunday,
But now, an orange sunset, a cynical heart,
A soul's decay.

I remember the yellow flag of,
conquered victors, uniting hands, dividing vows,
Now, the copper rust of life's delusions, subtracted faith,
Multiplied losses ubiquitous,

I remember the pretty pink glow of praise,
Maternal warmth, paternal powers,
Yet midnight purple disturbs my sleep, wounds my heart,
But come it must,

I remember the Lucite red of cheering wine,
And laughter at the dinner table,
Now processed grain of liquid brown,
A clouded mind cowardly brave,

I remember the pure white light of rocking cradles,
And tired fables,
Finally, I soon shall see the deep, black, gloom within my grave.