Wandering alone I am this fourth of July
in a park as the sun sets a deep runny red.
I think of nothing as the wind lifts my hair
which is dyed a grayish shade of blue.
What is it about this day that makes me melancholy?
I'm left with emptiness, but I don't know why
Maybe it's because this day is so much a part of my unhappy childhood
that this feeling of emptiness ensues.
I feel the warmth on my face as I once again cry
over things that are no longer in my control.
These holidays are painful until they've passed by;
still the lingering touch of sorrow is always there.
Looking at the white clouds 'neath deep violet skies,
I suddenly forget why I am even there.
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