When the colour runs and fades to grey,
into languid motions we seep away
and these lashing tongues, we speak
for what we cannot know,
and we cannot know.
With broken branches we build our bridges
and we tie our rafts with strings of words --
making up the world in which
we cannot see, dear,
and we shouldn’t be.
You who sketches in black and white,
and I who paints in red and blue,
leave tepid marks on each other’s skin
where the sound of our souls carry
on the back of every breath never exhaled.
The darkness tells me an ending’s coming
and the light you hate is shining through;
unpredictable as we are.
For you who lacks the spectrum of passion
sees the need for pity in the mixed pigments
of my naivety.
And I see the flesh of your lips, a tinted blush
so far from the empty lifeless white
of your mind.
And maybe, that’s okay
in a way.
~~
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140,752 Literary Works • 673,686 Reviews
Lovely. It flowed together like the words of a love song... and yes i know it twas not about love but still! It had the same sort of passion that goes into a love song, did it not? It put an image in my mind like rainbows and colorful flows in a field that slowly are stripped of their colors and turn grey and musky. This was beautifully written and I'm eager to see what else you have written. Keep writing!
this peom Is so deep I was worried I'd get lost in it. how personal it is, is what makes it so lovely, It paints a sad, dark, yet beautiful image I can't get out of my head, your flow captures me and make me think... I'd go on but I don't think I could never explain it well enough, so i'll leave you with one last word: Beautiful...
This gets a little wordy in the middle, but I love the ending. I'll be back to review this probably Thursday, at most the weekend. :]