Painted red and gold and
Beautiful
Like fall itself
But more painful and
More brittle than
The leaves that line the streets.
Frosted silver and blue and
Harsh
Like winter itself
But colder and
More fragile than
The snowflakes that melt in my hands.
Dripping in green and yellow and
Fresh
Like spring itself
But newer and
More hopeful than
Anything that grows.
Encompassed by yellow and orange and
Burnt
Like summer itself
But warmer and
More welcoming than
Hot concrete and cool drinks.
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Painful Truths
PoetryLife asked Death, "Why do people love me but hate you?" and Death replied, "Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth." (completed) Well. Poems, if you could call them that. Just rambled and rushed night time thoughts. Some of these a...
