Tranquility
In the quiet hours of dawn,
When the world is a soft whisper,
I find solace in the hue of the sky,
A canvas painted with the first light,
Gentle, soothing, infinite.
It's the color of the ocean's depths,
Where secrets and dreams intertwine,
A dance of waves under the sun's gaze,
A melody of tranquility,
Endless, embracing, eternal.
In the eyes of a newborn,
There's a glimpse of this shade,
A reflection of innocence and wonder,
A spark of the beginning,
Pure, hopeful, serene.
It's in the twilight,
When the day meets the night,
A moment of calm,
A bridge between two worlds,
Quiet, reflective, peaceful.
This color, it whispers of freedom,
Of a boundless sky and an open sea,
A journey without end,
A path of possibilities,
Tranquil, vast, liberating.
It's the color of my solace,
Of my dreams, of my quiet moments,
A shade that feels like a deep breath,
A color that holds the essence of peace,
Calm, cool, collected.
On Thin Ice
he said that they
drove their cars onto
the thick ice
of the lake
left them there
until it thawed
sinking their vehicles
right to the bottom
the bubbles that formed
when the cars went under
screaming for air
and a sense of closure
the waves have a color
it turns to a deathly
dark shade when it laps
at the under carriage
of the trucks that are
parked there, not knowing
that they are being swallowed
in one mouthful, a lake
so enormous
its darkness is a hue
that people see
and know that they
can make things disappear
inside of it
2 Colors
I am a thief in the night. Your gifts are mine. No one shall be happy because neither am I.
Verdant pastures reaching, stretching towards forests of whistling pines. Ivy, slick and creeping, up the moss covered maples. I look north and catch the five tailed fan. My dreams are greedy for more as I sleep below the canopy.
I am nothing in light and everything on paper.
In the night I feel at home, in the day I'm never alone. You cannot see me I am the abyss, I am the darkness when your eyelids kiss.
Not green
It's the tip of the arrow
When it's pierced through a heart
It dances in flames
And enrages a bull
It's a white rabbit's eyes
It's glowing hot coals
An Olympic ring
The planet of Mars
A dramatic sunrise,
Which promises rain
It's berries and cherries
And a whole bowl of fruit
Nectarines and apples
Cheeks flushed with shame
An emphatic stop sign
It makes cars go fast
Or tells them to halt
It's passion and heat
It's onions and cabbage
And a dollop of ketchup
It's ruby, it's scarlet
It's crimson, it's rose
A small robin's breast
A tree's autumn leaves
The head of a match
Wrap You Up, Beautiful, Wondrous Child
Though it is dark and though a bit ominous, how it catches firelight with shadows black and obscene.
It swallows the light, perhaps as it so despises it's glare. Or is it jealous, silently rotting green and putrid beneath such rich, drowning beauty.
Wrap yourself, for it is often in fine material.
Silk and thick downs, smooth and fluid as the water, thick and lined soft as a sheep's tangles of fur.
Lock and Hem, aconite and all a witch's berry shaded brews. Dyed in such mysterious, alluring, so fatal shades.
Almost black some could say it is charred.
Worn to war and worn in the throne rooms.
Forgive then, if it has some patches, if perhaps the hems of this color are a bit burned.
Through it's wear, through long years exposed and bullied by the winds and scorching sun.
It's color remains-- as if by magic-- unknowable and regal.
Look, how in a long cloth it buries you up. Gently holds you, protects you.
How the people stare on but don't dare speak.
Stay silent, stay abound in their stupor when you walk.
Clothed in such fine things.
Hooded your face, look how the color makes your skin all the more spectacular. Or how the tufts of hair that peak out, their own lustrous flower.
Keep it child.
Such a rare color.
Worth the cottage, worth thy whole forest, and worth only the prettiest words and highest airiest compliments.
Worth the most unique, the most beloved treasure.
A child.
So unique and wondrous as you.
Will you do magic? Will you smell of the dust on books and have nails painted by quill ink?
Tell the seamstress for this fine, royal dye.
Stars to the sky?
Or simple silver to leap across fluttering waves?
Clear as day
We take it for granted
what the magnifying glass exposes
and every window conveys
what isn't there
and we look
right passed
Water and air
they all take on
light and shade
from the atmosphere
the visual silence
the space
the empty
that drowns us
what Mozart said
or Debussy echoed
and Picasso in respect
put his brush away
while old Monet
closed a tired eye
and slaved
it was clear
from the beginning
to the end
there was nothing
except ....
the lens
02.20.2024
my favorite color challenge @AJAY9979
