Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Kate W Nov 2011
Hands pressed against the cold glass window,
strange, I can feel the drops of rain
falling on the other side.

what would it feel like to always see in yellow?

dancing in tumultuous pigment…
yellow to green
green to
blue
blue into

black.

I have sunk into the darkness
just as canvas soaks up paint
to touch the stygian world  
with hollyhock eyes and dusty fingers.

A tunnel of black, and I can’t seem to find a flashlight.
(How can you possibly persist when you cannot see?)

blinking violet pearls that dance beneath my eyelids,

I tumble
to swim in yellow.

Such a pleasant daffodil lens.
This poem is still under slight editing. I'm still trying to work on the flow and organization.

— The End —