The blood pools beneath our feet

And forms a river of death,

fumes of iron rise from the ground.

It flows and grows and comes from a seemingly endless source

And I kneel.

Cupping the life-giving liquid in my hands,

Let the destruction trickle through my fingers,

Printing the colour into my face and memory.

A white light sears its way into my eyes,

Time seems to stop and sets memories afloat,

I see roses withering on the counter top,

becaue the buyer never had enough time to care for them.

Another world drifts past my sight

so I snatch it out of the void,

a dripping crystal sits on a hand

with the screams of dying men

Perhaps there is a better thought

I grasp at wind-blown straws

Like the blooming of anemones

but behind there's a story untold

Then reality clocks in,

Because all rivers run out sometime,

he falls

bringing my hopes and dreams with him.

And it only takes three minutes until the boy is run dry,

Soulless eyes staring blankly at the sky

And the battle rages on.

With the dust painting the world,

mourning a lost soul.

The beautiful garden is sweeter

Queen and all, Demeter

This garden of all the ground

The one we all renowned

We all stand and stare at the one who conceives

At the beatuiful and broad leaves

We notice this color for its whole

The was it can lose all control

A perfect cake,

Baked with loved ones

A color that is not just a metal

The color of sunsets

Of campfires

It is the color of life

And the joy that life brings us

It is the color of joy

And the joy that shows us what life can be

absence creeps into

the edges of my vision

a hit and i'm

falling into the void

funny how the

absence of color

can fill me with

so much nothing.

not in a rainbow

but it's in me

always waiting

for a chance to

obscure my vision

in darkness and night.

I sat and repeated the word over and over

And I couldn't picture anything

I couldn't form words

Absolutely nothing came to my mind

But an endless space of clouds, stars, lost souls and broken dreams

So

who

said

black

was

oblivion?

Some are quick to say it’s not a color

But they’re missing the point

Because it's not just one, but all of them

Every color meeting in a single space

And its body absorbs light perfectly

Where some see endless darkness

The poets know better

In it, they see Power

A smoldering color,

The last breaths of a dying flame.

The color of fall and the knowledge of coming holidays.

It means sweaters and jeans,

It means hot chocolate with marshmallows,

It means jackets, not coats.

It’s the sound of fallen leaves being crunched upon the ground.

Its fiery and bright.

Burning over the waves of cold colors

warming them to hundreds of degrees.

Its soft and cuddly,

like a heated blanket laying over you

in the depths of winter.

Flames burn bright with this color

and present hope

when other colors do not.

The rush of flame,

A curl of smoke,

The poke of a needle,

A drop of bright blood,

The waking of a baby at night,

A wailing scream and a mother shushing.