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Azurel M 12h
In a little room tucked away in her fantasy graden
She painted her heart
The sound of rasping across a canvas
Almost coaxed her lips into a curve
Dip and swish and flick against her broken cup
Her eyes traced the colors with peculiar detail
They painted what had not yet been painted
Getting lost in the landscape of her emotions
Forming at the jagged cliff of heartbreak
Pretty little eyelashes fell off as easy as dandelion seeds
Getting mixed in with horse hair bristles and dusty aprons
Her smile could do the work itself
Lighting up in a thousand shades
But she only liked the colors
Red and blue
Because they were his favorite
"Cherries and bluebells" she would say
“That's what his heart looked like”
When he pinned it to hers
But he didn’t like the way they mixed
“An **** shade of purple”
He would say
So
Bluebells dried pressed against her lips
Cherries shriveled on her tongue
And he left from the world
Leaving little footprints in the snow for miles and miles
Now she knows that only red and blue can make her smile.
Inspired by red and blue paint splattered on a trash can
Anne J 14h
Thy is not blind, thy is full of life
Yet it be thy eyes has lost all soul
Thy colors have fallen and brutally died
There’s no hope, to find them is no more

Black, grey, whenever and wherever you go
Never to reappear in this monochromatic world
All colors have gone as if they vanished into below
Get them quick; they’re in hold!


Children will hear, children will be told
Of the story of no colors around
Only black and white are left, as the rest are mold
Grey in the sky, grey on the ground, colorless all around

Yet, in my hands, in this little polychromatic portfolio
I am still able to see the colors that left so long ago
I made this poem for an English project for the first semester of my freshman year in high school. I can't believe that was 2016, and I'm already about to enter into 2019 as a junior...Time sure flies! I was looking in google drives and suddenly saw this, and I knew right away that I had to upload this.
As you can see, even when I was younger I had depressing ideas for poems ****. Looking over this, it's not only nice to see how much I've improved, but also strange how I typed out gray in the British form (grey) when I'm American lol. I left this poem without any edits to show my work view of mistakes. xD also more lol I rhymed around twice in the third stanza.
Final lol: there was 2 spaces between the 2nd and 3rd stanza instead of one like for the reason of spaces between he four stanzas. I left it there to show how much I've grown lol.
I often color the sky
based on the intensity of love.

It can go from exchanging compliments
of sapphire, vanilla, and blue

to different degrees of purple,
black, and velvet hue.

Sometimes the richest combination
of orange, yellow, explosions of honey.

Oftentimes all shades of gold, bronze
plus all the colors of downy.

A careless mix of
pink skies in perspectives of blue

All paint poured to the sky
if the intensity's for you.
I am the poem you wrote on the back of your hand,
The ink that was washed away,
Flown into the drain.
I am the idea you hurriedly scribbled on a napkin in a coffee shop,
But forgot to take with you.
I am the tune you could never hum right,
The page that fell off the hinge of an old book,
Collecting dust.

You thought you had me figured out,
But you were wrong.
I am the calm before the storm,
The battle cry that sounds like a song.

You thought you knew me,
But you never did.
I am cool to the touch,
So cold that I can burn your tongue.
I am the colors of a rainbow,
Sometimes red,
Sometimes blue,
Sometimes all at once.
Nice to meet you.
- No, nice to meet you.
- Who invited you?
- The Crow.
- And you?
- My boss.
- Hmmm...
- Why?
- I was just wondering if,
by any chance,
you knew how to hunt rabbits.
- No, but I know how to follow orders
and shut up.
- Well, good for you!
I'll rather be black and fear the light,
then blue and having nothing to do.
- What?
- I was just talking about colors.
What is your favorite color?
- Grey.
- I thought so...
- Why?
- Because you're wearing pants.
- !?
You are not making any sense!
- I  know.

Goodnight said the bird of pray
before disappearing behind the shiny yellow curtain.
siinli 3d
As I close my eyes
Darkness starts to fill every spaces
I can barely recognize the colors
that are present
But there, a little spot of light I can feel
Like a dazzling hope in the vast emptiness
It's hovering around
Wavering alone.
We all have that one light as we close our eyes, look at it, own it, embrace it. It's there, it's always been there.
Stephen 6d
Blue and yellow both want to meet
Without ever turning green.
Each expects the other to defy nature's law.
Yellow wants more yellow,
Blue wants more blue.
When green is inevitably produced,
Both are disappointed.
Everyone wants someone to complete them,
Almost no one wants to complete someone else.
But nature's law cannot be broken:
You cannot take without giving.
The only way yellow and blue can complete each other
Is by embracing the green.
Emily 7d
I want to say being with you was like coming home, but that seems so over-done.
Despite the truth it holds.
I think maybe I’ll try and speak your language. Because being with you was homemade paint.
Mason jars lining shelves, oil and pigment and a palette of your own creation.
When you ran your fingers over my skin it wasn’t Cadmium red, no, it was more like, the setting of the sun after a hot summers day. Orange so deep it feels like you are going to fall into it. Not Permanent or Transparent. No, it was like a fire, warm and so, so bright. Like the world around me had gone up in flames and I was happy to burn with it.
Or when you laughed, the air lit up like a sunflower. Not Hansa or Nickel or Indian yellow. Think something between gold and the shade of a lemon. Honey, sweet and sticky.
And my heart twisted and turned inside my chest, adapting to the mix of colors, oil dripping into my veins.
When you smiled. ***, when you smiled. The world seemed to converge. Nothing made sense. I was spinning in a circle in the middle of a carnival. Too much to process. Stained glass windows at noon, playing out across the floors of the church. Iridescent and never ending.
The only thing that brought me back was your brush hitting the canvas, your voice calling out to me, and then it was green, so much green, like a perfectly polished suburban yard and standing beneath a canopy of trees in August, looking up and up until the sun forces your gaze to turn, and the green depression glass that sits pretty on my mother’s bookshelf. I think of light dancing off an emerald ring, not Viridian or Olive or Sap. Nothing you can find in a crafts store. Nothing that can be manufactured. Only that which can be bended and built from your own mind and hands.
And then you were gone. Twice now you’ve left. And it is blue like I have never known. So dark it feels black if I dwell for too long. Richer than Idanthrone, not quite Prussian. Have you ever gone to the ocean at night, just before a storm hits the coast? Or, went up into the country, where the stars illuminate the world around you and the sky is spread out like a blanket above you? Not Cobalt or Cerulean. No, this blue is only something you can make. Something you’ve brought with you. With your sunflowers and your sunsets and your stained glass.
We talked about the way colors can change when they’re next to each other, next to something similar or vastly different. The way the depths can be altered, and just a little more oil can thin it out.
There is nothing to compare anymore.
Just blue. So blue I can’t breathe. So blue my fingers shake and my head aches.
The blue is okay when you’re there. When you’ve laid your palette out before me, when your canvas is full, and beautiful, and I can’t look away. But now, you’ve taken every other color with you, and left me with blue.
Not store bought or easily replaced.
Your blue. From your words and your touch and your voice.
I thought I saw you the other day, for just a moment, the world exploded around me. All the color I thought I’d never see again. A storm so rich with color, I could have gone blind.
But you’re still gone. And I’m still blue.
to the artist i loved and lost
Pedro Vialle Nov 30
Life used to be so simple,
but now I can't find my inner peace.
Loving used to feel so fine,
but now everything feels cold as ice.
I used to be so sure of me,
but now I am a pit of doubts.
So where all these paths go,
if they only go round and round?
How do I choose who am I going to be,
if I don't even know who am I now?
All this pressure, all this pain,
all for nothing as all stays the same.
But one day, I shall stop this heavy rain,
that makes me soggy and sad,
depressive and vain.
I shall rise like a rainbow,
leting all my colors out,
leaving all my pain,
and nothing will hold me down.
Amanda Nov 30
The horizon tries
turning me to the night, but,
I know better now.
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