Gloria

Sudden overwhelming feeling and collapse
Like another Sunday crossword covered nap
The swirling hue in the cupboards
Beckoning me onward
Still I can't quite seem to fathom what I've grasped

It's just a trick of the light
I'm told
There's nothing there that wasn't where it was;
Or where I left it
Just another thing that comes with getting old

Sepia painted twilights in repose
Unanswered letters spoken is softened prose
The world keeps dimmer
Despite the brilliant glimmer
That hung upon the garden where she rose.