Blue is the color of the ripped jeans
She’s not supposed to wear out of the house.
It’s the feeling of guilt that pangs in her heart
As she slips out the window as quiet as a mouse.
Blue is the beat up truck
That picks her up every Saturday night.
And blue is the irises of his eyes
That can make her higher than a kite.
It’s the color of the sky
On the picnics after school.
It’s the tears that stream down her cheeks
As her parents call her a fool.
Blue is the sapphire in the ring he holds
As he gets down on one knee.
The rush of joy
That is such simplicity.
The color of the flowers,
And the pin in her hair.
It’s the perfume fragrance
That fills the air.
The misty-eyed audience gazing in awe,
At the veil and dress.
The aura of the room,
Filled with pure happiness.
Blue is the color of the beanie
That rests on her newborn’s head.
It’s the color of her partner’s gaunt skin
As he lies still in bed.
Blue is the sense of sorrow
When she realizes he’s gone.
And the final goodbye
As she tries to move on.