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red is for love, its filled with hate
orange is anxiety, an unoptimistic trait
yellow is decaying, rotting quickly
green is selfish and sickly
blue is not only sad, but melancholy
purple is the deep bruising, form your unfortunate folly
white is the cabinet, stained red with hate
brown is the decay that yellow can make
black and blue is her face from his selfishness
purple she turned, when she lost to the sickness.
Fall greets the earth as summer slips quietly away.
The seasons are changing, as the leaves shift in color from Emerald Green and Chartreuse
to Russet Browns, antiques of their once fine grandeur,
though still splendid in their beauty.
The color of the leaves, as if painted by hand, so individually crafted.
With swirls of Orange and Coquelicot, the leaves fall as if they are gracing the earth the way a painter graces their canvas.
The air grows cooler, giving way to new glory, breezy winds that whisper, carrying undertones of what is to come.
The lakes feel the chill, and the creatures understand that the changing winds will soon give way to a glacial paradise, an icy oasis.
The changing of the season from summer to fall is one I look forward to,
for there is something in the change that brings back fond memories.
Days filled with love, days spent in front of the fire, snugly wrapped, watching the flames twirl and dance.
Days filled with wonder, days in which my life seemed to move along to a soft and gentle melody that only I could hear.
Days when I held to life, and it met me with grace.
Still now, when I feel the fall winds gently embracing my skin,
I feel the same wonder, and that old melody carries me away again.

-Rhia Clay
I know it's not the season for fall poetry. However, I wanted to share a piece I wrote a while back that brings back fond memories. I hope you'll enjoy it too. :)
Lost Dreamer May 6
They are bright,
and they are beautiful.
With magical clouds,
as if someone had painted them.

The colors that came along with it,
were now blended together,
perfectly going together,
like it was meant to be.

We stare and admire,
wondering what nature is trying to say.
Watching the view slowly fade.
This is dedicated to my amazing friend Josie <3 She's the most awesome girl I've ever talked to.
Lost Dreamer May 5
Everywhere you look,
you'll see them.
From the blue sky,
to the small pink flowers,
sitting patiently for you to admire.

We only notice a few of them everyday.
Nobody stops to admire the beauty of them around us.
But, these hue's aren't just beautiful,
they give us life,
to all the memories we cherish.

Like the love of the calm ocean waves,
blue and bright,
waiting for us to dive in.
Or maybe the long, skinny branches of a willow tree,
perfect to read under.

Colors are all around us,
not just for us to rush past,
but for us to admire,
all of its everlasting grace.
PERTINAX Apr 25
Stolen by the wings of a canary,
Soaring through clouds
And weaving through hidden canopies,
Is a song known only to the sun
And certain flowers.

Trapped, the song pleads
In early morning
And in the dusk of shadows:
"Hear me sing, O lonely forest!"
Yet no one answers her call.

Frantic, the canary ruffles her feathers,
Searching for a single ear,
One soul to hear her precious
Color held captive.

Yellow stole the canary,
Its hue seducing her,
Staining her white genesis golden
Through months of dancing
With swaying southern honeysuckle,
Chasing the setting sun,
Soaking in every sweet note
Of yellow’s orchestra.

Defeated, she finds a secluded tree
Atop a barren mountain
And sings one final time:
"Hear me sing, O lonely earth,
For I have claimed your light as mine!"
She spreads her petite wings,
Each feather a ray of sunlight.
"Hear me sing, O mighty mother,
You alone have listened..."

Then, the canary weeps,
Her tears dropping notes of yellow,
As her feathers fade to pristine white,
Unblemished by envy’s hue.
At last, she finds her own song,
Whole in its quiet truth.
AC Apr 21
painting my nails seems so unproductive
when i could be studying for math or german or history
but i'm thinking about you.

i don't know your favorite color, or i would have painted them that shade.
though, unless your favorite color is
pink
purple
silver
crusty blue or
clear
then i guess i couldn't anyway because those are the only colors i have.
Lance Remir Apr 18
We were artists
But you had the brush
And I had the pen
You drew the worlds, the people
I wrote down the feelings, explanations

You captured the images perfectly
While I can only guess at the words
The way you moved your brush
While I can only stick to lines
Beauty versus perfection

You express your worlds radiantly 
But I can only write in black and white
I wished I traded my pen for a brush
To feel the colors you weaved 
To see the world beyond my script

Maybe if I knew how to color
If my pen drew more than rigid letters
You would have understood me 
In a world of black and white 
You were the color in my life
Sunseeker21 Apr 15
I change my colors every day.
From a morose and gloomy orange to a silver shining gray.
A chameleon is what I am, indelible.
I was born to alter, somewhat unhealable.

The colors adjust to everyone’s care.
In the morning sunset, I match the goldish orange air.
Blending into the fauna and flora,
My shades not too bright, so I blend seamlessly with the Roman aurora.
Trying not to try too hard,
So I can’t be harassed by the rest of the yard.

At midnight I relocate,
Even if it is oh so late.
While walking, my skin changes,
Which means it’s the moon that ranges.

From a soft orange to a glowing shade of gray —
It’s my shame that I convey.
It’s my dishonor that holds me back from being the brightest peony in the flowerbed.
It’s my own thorns from which every day I bled.

My own fault, because peonies don’t have thorns.
The other florals always have something that adorns.
At least it seems that way.
But they only ever saw the light of day.
Neil Coleman Apr 6
With colours gone
Grey, forlorn
The sky a puddle, muddy morn
I have no tears
I give thee thorns.

Where laughter lived
To once exist
The room aswirl, silent cyst
I have no tears
I give thee mist.

When passion played
And love was made
Fingers clasped and grasped in vain
I have no tears
I give thee reign.
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