Lamentation

I am a Vergistoerist;
visiting the Netherlands
to celebrate Koninginnedag,
but now the Netherlands
has a king,
and thus it is Kingsday, so I
am torn and broken.
I am the dim glow of fireflies
in late July. 
I have come to Amsterdam
this April thirtieth expecting
festivities, but
cold hues subsist with
nervous scruff,
and I cry like creaking ice--is it
too much to ask?  A few bouquets,
some nectar ever present,
a texture of color Monet
would have found appealing? 
I cherish the glimpse of
life-felt moments,
the celebration
of sky like cumulus cloud
airing mountains on high,
those displays of
burgeoning blooms
wherein inner pride erupts
like fireworks,
like gamma ray burst.
I am hopeful raiment, I am 
vibrant tourist
free to swirl laughter
along with deep felt sigh,
I am wooed
by tiny soldiers
marching steadfast, but caverns
oppress and overwhelm me. 
Stronger am I with the
wholeness of
what was. 

40 Lines 
Writer’s Cramp  Winner
5-6-16