Roses are red
Red as the sky
Red as the blood on my fingertips
Red is the color of my soul
Red as the sun
Red as the man on the street
Red as his eyes
Red as her dress
Red is the color of my tears
Red as the splatters across my vision
Red is the color of roses
1. it's that flash
to your blank thoughts.
2. it's that exhilarating feeling
of creating something -
of actually creating something -
with your endless procrastination.
3. it's your canvas
being filled with splatters
of paint and glitter.
4. it's art.
an updated version of my 2016 "art" poem ✨.
I know this like the Black of my Hands
because to ignorance, truth is profound
but to Experience, Truth is an *** Round
found in Leadbelly trying to run down
Freedom Ring crt. tied to a pair a shoot
on the last rung
of this corporate splatter
Truth is not as profound as we'd like to believe such as,
"My *** weighs a ton", a line so well versed that the reality of it all seems to have missed the mark. It's like explaining Planetary motion to a person still convinced the world is flat, or that Race is actually false to a society that pits man vs man where the only variation is skin tone and character, which is more pertinent to humanity (their actual race). In this I want the reader to grasp that the real tragedy is that Truth is Painfully obvious once the reality as happened to you.
The rain it pitter patters
Against my window splatters
And the only thing that really matters
Is your not here with me
It's like the sky could see
And started crying so soft and slowly
— The End —