Sometimes I feel blue.
Sometimes I see red.
Sometimes I smell orange
Or eat yellow bananas
when I get out of bed.
Sometimes I'm green with envy.
I'm sure there's indigo and violet
Somewhere in there too.
But just because sometimes the only color people see
Is the color of your skin,
It doesn't mean you don't have
A rainbow within you.

The forbidden love of a sunflower
It stands up tall and proud as it shows off its morning yellow
A sunflower simply can not love
The end draws near with every shadow that passes over
When darkness hovers, the dear sunflower closes its delicate petals and says a final goodbye
It falls just so it can pick itself up and try again when the morning sun comes

bright

warm

inviting

Yellow is such a happy color.
So happy, it almost cures my depression.

A jade shoot
springs forth from
clumps of soil,
braves the morning chill,
waits for Mother to cover her
with a little yellow rain hat.

Cradled by the sun,
she leans forward in a regal bow.
I poke around the old wine barrel,
tickle her brothers and sisters.

Wake, little ones. It is time.

If Heaven does exist,
I wonder if a sun shines there.

It seems an awfully cold place to me,
locked away behind those pearly gates,
supported by clouds.

I wonder if so much whiteness is good
for the soul, for the eyes, for the mind—

surely, there is some sort of fire up above
to balance that below.

I wonder if I would know the difference
between the heat of His love
and the heat of what He has created.

If Heaven does indeed exist,
I hope it is orange and yellow and red.
I hope it is warm.