Blue Period

A blue period,
right where your face should be,
nature's way of rekindling hurt,
of rubbing cold dirt
where none should be,
swathed in false colour,
melancholy.

Blue spaces, engorged,
intermittent oceans,
the old faithful
morning voice of regret;
nature's way of tipping the scales,
those blue melodies
where a lover's warm voice should be,
blue nights that darkness can't see.

A blue period,
halted verse,
full stop, cutting chords
and breaking the curse.
Misery,
right where you should be.