A deathly kind of melancholy
Washes over me
Amidst a cluster of happy moments
And smiles
And acclimations
With the sympathizers
That sees all the customary responses are lost on me
Like I was street grown
And just like them, I see colors
so vibrant
so gentle
that I, intoxicated in curiosity
went to go see the dazzling hues
but instead, I too got dyed
in the blessed colors
everywhere I turn
I see the colors
of the colorless,
and in the night when only the
sorrowful stay awake
I too do not shut my eyes
for my heart hurts
it screams and bleeds
in ways, I could never fathom.
~ BeNelly~
YOU ARE READING
Dark passion
PoetryThe pile-up ecstasy Of the unknown. The beauty of my pain. This is a collection of the poem that illustrates that there is light even in the darkest of place. The is beauty even in pain so live it and live a mark.
