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The sun was so close to
the fingertips of the earth mother
while the rose bloomed so bright
the first morning the sun rose on the earth.
The sun spaced up high up to the blue sky
so the colour of the rose may not wither.

The mother Fathima smiled even brighter
upon the rose, the sun drew back every sunrise
is ever closer till to date a colour never withers!
Kale 6d
He is as hopeless as flying a kite made of clouds.
Now, some may say that that was impossible, improbable.
Some may even call it magical.
He did not see it that way.

In his eyes, he was as useful as a fraying rope.
Always on the edge of breaking,

His chest felt empty,
As if the dust left from his shattered heart had finally blown away.
The only thing there was his ribcage,
Trapping lungs that barely worked.

He believed he was hopeless.

To her, that was not the case.

She took his soul and painted grey and blue skies,
And used her own soul to glue him back together.

She flew her cloud kite proudly through the sky,
Doing tricks and running with it,
Smiling the whole time.

He is as hopeless as flying a kite made of clouds.

He is not hopeless.
If I were a colour,
I'd choose to be red,
Running down his veins
and kissing his
Curves and corners
and edges and vertices.
If I were a colour,
I'd choose to be pink,
I'd be the loving heartbeats that beat synchronized
and the love which is in the air.
If I were a colour,
I'd choose to be yellow,
I'd be the sunflowers in the field
smiling at the sun with sorrow.
If I were a colour,
I'd choose to be brown,
I will be the colour if his eyes
and the sparkle in them that never dies.
The soil on which he would sit and cry
and one fine day
leave me with a dejected goodbye.
If I were a colour,
I'd choose to be black,
embarrassing the moon and earth in my arms,
I'd be the colour they see
after the eyes are closed
and the world is dark.
Noa Jan 23
white is the colour of something new, without being a colour.
white is nothing. what makes it something. something that screams without saying anything and at the same time it’s noiseless.
white is like crystal snowflakes that swirls in the ocean blue sky and searches for his something. his colour. and when he founds his colour. he falls into that colour and that nothingness white changes into something.
a new bright colour.
Shofi Ahmed Jan 21
No word
no sound
no colour
yet a lingua
is heard in
two hearts!
Jade Bartlett Jan 16
There's always been something
so Hollywood about her--
and I don't mean
21st Century *******.

I'm talkin'
Judy Garland,
you're the bee's knees
type of Hollywood.

Now, listen'--
this girl--
I'm talkin'
(she'll blow your
******'socks off).

I'm talkin'
Cinematic Beauty Queen;
skin freckled with film grain
the same way the night sky
is freckled with constellation,
mouth parted like velvet curtains,
only to reveal the sweetest prose.

She is Mystique-Fatale,
blazon in colour
among dull, sepia tones--
an Oz among all
the dreary Kansases.

She is allure and poeticism,
hair curled grand,
dressed to the nines
in lace and satin
(they wonder
what lies beyond the
half moons of her *******
and the slit in her gown,
if the butterflies
run rampant
between her knees
like everyone says).

Do not underestimate her--
she is both
(her kindness
does not falter)
and Pinup-Girl-Honey
(one would not think
to challenge--
to break--
a woman
so prolifically brazen,
but they try anyway).

In a world filled
with actresses--
please, darlings,
save the acting for
the stage,
******* it--
she is so ineffably herself.

She does not reserve
her emotion for
the theatre alone;
she is not afraid
to cry, and--
when she cries
the earth shakes
with the very profusions
of an opera singer's vibrato.

And, God,
you should hear
her poetry,
brimmed with images
picturesque and tragic,
straight outta the movies
it would seem.
Yet, her words
ring with something
so inconceivably real.

And that's what
you've always loved
best about her--
she is the truest person
you've ever met.

It's a shame, then,
that you wouldn't stay
for the grand finale.

with or without you,
this show must go on.

(and it has).
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Anon Jan 13
The lines cutting through the canvas,
one by one carving it up.
Slowly turning it into this piece of "art".
The vivid colours jumping from the page
screaming, Look at me! Look at me!
Well, we are looking.
Yet we never truly see what is there.
Nathalie Jan 12
She wears as genuine smile
that people don't always
quite undertand

Sometimes it even makes
them wonder or rattles
them rather uncomfortable

She on the other hand
is perplexed by why others
don't see the world in colour

Frowning at the beauty
that is also theirs to

Christina Jan 9
black is the absence of colour
each pigment is erased as it descends
and life begins to fade

to think we live most of our lives in the dark
the blackest black of them yet
so does colour really exist?

colour is a distraction from the truth
it paints lies in pastel shades

but when black hours descend
the truth can finally be revealed
Aishah Jan 6
it wasn't long
before I realised
you were the sun,
a riot of yellow

reflecting towards
my black and white

awakening the green meadow
from inside

I grew sunflowers
as a way of worshipping you
and thanking you

for bringing colours
into the darkest part
of me
he helps me grow in ways I didn't expect

a short letter to my lover, page five
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