Is it red or gold?
I can no longer see the difference.
They both have meaning, warm and cold,
but I have no background inference.
Red like the fluttering cardinal's feathers,
but with a worldless ocean of depth.
The eminent vitality permeates the countless layers,
and a single look was enough to deftly steal my breath.
but it might as well be a searing gold,
with its sheen of softly sleeping amber.
A vibrancy that boils my blood cold,
and fills my mind with fruitless clamor.
I see it as neither or both.
The gold brings solace, while the red is my reality.
Before the colors flow, I must swear my saving oath,
that the delusion will never end my forlorn vitality.
I remembered writing this poem a while back, after questioning myself why my blood was no longer red (it was red, I just couldn't see it for some reason). written summer-ish(?) 2019, vastly edited Jan.10.2020.