Ode to Burgundy

Burgundy, the shades of darker reds
Burgundy, the color of stained wood
And rhubarb pie
And the color of my mind when I am alone.

Burgundy, like hardened blood,
Spilled in a different world,
A long slow wound
Oozing like molasses in the wintertime

From the leftover leaves from fall,
From old things made new again,
From the shades of darker red
Of the Chevy pickup that parks across the street.

Burgundy, the pale skies mixed with the shade of emotion
With a dying breath that slams the door on all things known and then unknown.
Found and lost again, in an infinite pool,
Thick with the tears of those from years past.

The color of my death and of my birth,
The color that surpasses time itself
And yet retains the innocent unknowing of a child.
Not ignorance, but truth.

A self-sustaining monster,
Like a phoenix, which by growing old grows young again.
Like the wizard from the fairy tales I used to read,
The one with the thousand bloody braids hanging from his chin.

Like a crack of thunder,
The deep satisfaction of the yin and yang,
Of the deep growl in the throat of a madman
Or the sound of a bullet shot from a gun.

When early in the afternoon the sun sets,
The days growing longer,
But the shade of darker reds foresees
A new day that comes from the darkness.

Burgundy, the friend you’ve known since you were born,
The friend who left you long ago,
The friend who you will meet in years to come,
The friend that betrays you when the time comes to say goodnight.

Burgundy, which, by cool moonlight
Sticks into your heart the dagger of loss and the pain of discovery.
The crouching tiger in the long grass,
The hidden dragon crawling just beneath your skin.

The color of red wine,
Which swirls the world into something that means more,
The color of vomit,
New things become old things brought back.

The color of a scab,
A remembered injury,
Burgundy, the color of wet clay,
The color of words and of anger.

The color that drives me to my destination,
The color that keeps me sleeping in my bed.
Burgundy, four forties floating in the deep haze
Of dreams not yet realized.

Burgundy, the shades of darker reds
Burgundy, the color of stained wood
And rhubarb pie
And the color of my mind when I am alone.

Burgundy.