Beginning to change colors:
My heart was ruby red, yet clear as crystal.
Neither crack nor imperfection was present.
I refrained from letting it go,
'Cause I knew the world
Was full of impure colors,
And I was too afraid to blend.
I saw everyone else with their painted-
faces,
Which accompanied their colored-in hearts.
It was rare that somebody would come along,
With pure colors vibrating from afar.
They were the only ones worth mixing with.
I stayed away from harmful shades,
The dull, steamy color which drugs offer,
Alchohol, resembling a murky brown,
The green of envy and money,
Which flourishes like weeds,
Violence gives off a blackish-blue,
Blood, a dark red...
These colors are faded,
Echoing pain and past losses.
I only mixed colors with true meanings,
A yellow of joy,
Which can be found in the poorest of places.
A blue of sadness, followed up by a peach-colored comfort.
Occasionally I needed the red of anger,
And a blur of frustration,
To clear my tangled thoughts.
I was a blank canvas,
Ready for a masterpiece,
Awaiting my artist to start.
My colors were ready,
My heart still opaque,
Brushes layed beside me.
And I waited,
And waited again,
Not sure if I was the one waiting,
Or the artist was.
My canvas hardly changed.
Just a few mistakes by pencil,
Corrected by eraser.
But I was ready for a change,
I wanted those vibrant colors,
Those pure hearts.
I knew I had to mix,
If I wanted a painted heart.
YOU ARE READING
Stained Hearts
PoetryMy first book of poetry, consisting of prose poetry and rhymes. Just a collection of thoughts and experiences translated into whimsical poetry, made specifically for your poetic appetite. Mostly I write about nature, time, a bit of love and...
