Torture In Various Hues

Black, of course-

the color of night, of death,

shade my eyes

from brighter dreams.



Red, the wilting rose

of seeping blood-

drawn from veins

now long dried of life.


Yellow, such cowardice,

afraid to go outside these lines,

for fear and wariness

color my pages in.


Green, the envy

of my longing soul,

for those who

live unfettered and free.

White, the starkness

of shadowless passings-

the purity I once knew

now dappled in darker shades.

Blue, the musical tone

of moods and minds-

meloncholy emotions

like unfading bruises.

Gray, the headstone,

of what remains-

an epitaph unwritten

and carved, no less deep.


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nightlight1220's picture



...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "