grey carpet, yellow wall,
brown table, yellow wall,
blue seat, yellow wall,
and a **** coloured stain on the ceiling.
_______

shoulders pressed inward,
hands between thighs,
hair hanging in front of
detestable grey eyes.

but details matter,
red hands must smear
a crude-drawn picture,
on strips of brown-clear.

blinding and white
burning the table,
ten pages in all,
a statement from Abel.

attempt to explain,
better yet confess,
inky black clips,
secret, sudden cess.

bottle green, cautioning;
two lives lost
to action unseen.
golden is youth,
yet blue is the feeling,
all colour gone, body reeling.

I adore the colour blue

Not the pale blue of assumed gender

Or the gloomy blue of english  

Teachers; seen in poems everywhere.

It's a royal blue

Regal

Ethereal  

But without the fakeness of an emperor’s purple.

It's heavy.

You could drown in this colour.

Or you could wear it really well.

It's rarely seen.

Though it can be found if you look hard enough;  

Seen in the gleam of sapphires.

The light on computer monitors

That one poster on the wall.

Sometimes I cannot picture the colours

Simply the feeling it gives me

Security

Encompassing stability

Power.

The feeling of a home I've forgotten.

To me this colour is a happy one.

(so no, these blue curtains don’t mean I have depression)

One day

After the too bright sun has passed for a final time.

I will pass by,

But I will be happy

Because my heaven will be blue.

Pretty little thing
Light shines through your layers
Baseline glistens in the sun
The beat inside is strong
Perspective is resonating
Such colour with so many faces
who can do no wrong
Living in the present
with futures unknown
This moment resonates
Charcoal complete feeling that heat
inside of me

You remember the fire in black and white
Like an old movie
How the pictures on the wall burned
How they crumbled to the flaming ground
As if descending into the inferno
The fabrics singed,
The kitchen had fallen apart
The stairs to the second floor had collapsed
But the glass-eyed look she gave you
Was the only thing in colour.

like sage or olives
tastes like meadows and fresh dew
like forests and life

There will never be happiness
            without

sadness.

Like there will never be a rainbow,
   before the

                               rain fell..

Oh this grey prison of our waking eyes,
It is colder than our long-lived and taciturn tides,
The moon smiles, beaming, upon our wavering way,
Knowing that our fervent sun will soon set fire to our new day.

This stranger pain and that neighbour sorrow,
They are jealous of the colours we are saving for tomorrow,
To blot them with night's ink is their insidious intent,
Let us hold our precious currency of colours, even until our last breath is spent.

The advent of our springtime seems as unlikely as our salvation,
Perhaps our darker clouds will begin to cry for our hydration,
Those tears would greet that arid soil like the dew drops greet the morn,
And from the dearest droplets fall, our spring is here, our spring is born.