I find
myself staring at the wall
The
blankness
The beigness
of it all.
My heart disappears
in to a colorless hue
Dripping
hours
Confined to
a fleeting moment with you.
I am not
whole, nor am I broken
A cracking
teapot
Emitting her silver steam unspoken.
I have no
lexicon to decipher your words
They are foreign
Their
meaning is blue and hazy. Illegibly blurred.
I will not surrender;
I know not how to stand
Alive in the
corner
Grasping at
air, reaching for your pink hand.
I swim in
the porridge of sadness and elation
Pulling me
down
Yet lifting
me up to a bouquet. A standing ovation.
I find
myself staring at the wall
The
blankness
The beigness
of it all.
It's a beautiful poem, Karie. Sometimes live can seem so empty or oridnary. But the great thing about us artist types is we know how to fill a canvas (beige or otherwise) with vibrant and wonderful colours of our choice to create a masterpiece.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, sweet Ben. Here's hoping we can always fill our canvas with unique masterpieces :)
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