This challenge, it suits me quite nicely.

For I grew up with drunkards precisely.

The still, though long gone,

in hearts it's hung on.

Or should I say it hung o'er concisely.

(Maybe it's just me, but I always associate Limericks with drinking and carousing.  I guess it could also just be my upbringing, see above. :-)

Cleft hearts, split

in two - untouch

my skin, I keep

you in a jar: seal

it up tight. Hard

days pressed into

nights - we all do

know, to feel it is

to make it true. So

I will keep you: in

times to come, if

not yet waked, you

will know what I'm

dreaming of. Until

hope bursts, nudging

in - til we're alive,

and new again.

I do not

Talk in colors as often now. 

It has been said to me

That my poetry is of lone attire,

Donned in black

And paired

With a sash of gold

Of only my own vision. 

If I am the only one

That can see such silk, 

Then it is my own color 

That I speak for myself. 

Let us now wave at this future.

A painted vision,

An unattainable masterpiece

Bred from itchy fingers

Covering the eyes of freedom.

History repeats

Like flowers on weathered graves

Metronome of time

Striving for passage

From days lost in passed juncture

We must now break free