"As we solemnly gaze at fading colors in the"
Melody W 

Nuances of everyday life
albeit unspoken, flit through skies; silent
kites chasing eternity.

As we solemnly gaze at fading colors in the
northern face of the amber sky, they remain:

ears unwilling to accept the truth,
eyes unable to forget the light

"tiny shifting shapes, pulsating colors"
Melody W 

apex of the witching hour;
it beckons to me with sly allure.
pummeled fists, hard kernels of truth
silently relish whimsical patterns
birthed by this intensifying pressure

anxiously await the threshold
to this lonely portal, shrouded mysteries
echo as if from far away

tiny shifting shapes, pulsating colors
take on a life of their own
content in obscurity

urgent voices of the bubbling creek
are slowly being drowned by soft, yet
intensifying sighs of the flowers
until all is saturated
with eerie overlapping melodies
heightened but for a brief moment

silence settles over the wood, glaring in the midst
of everything that could have been
even as the doors to this parallel universe
shut cruelly once again.

"colors part willingly, paralleling"
Melody W 

guided by misfortune, lulling waves
etching away what once was carved
the mist rolls in from the harbor
settling evenly over this sleeping city

clinging to the first-borns, stolen birthrights
tiny pummeling fists strong against injustice
the stillness shall prevail once more;
yet, hold your breath with changing tides

colors part willingly, paralleling
a plethora of audiovisual riches
lost in the storm

"The sun colors buildings,"
Ryan Hodges 

The city is a grid
of lights projected
by man-made mountains
built of glass and steel;
they reflect, distorted
off the glass surface
of Lake Michigan.

Good morning

The sun rises
with heavy-eyed commuters,
homes filling with
the smell of coffee;
yesterday’s events are
brought inside, rolled
up in a blue plastic bag.

Soon the traffic on the Dan Ryan
will turn the stretch of road
into a temporary parking lot.

Life enters the veins
of downtown;
it heads down Michigan Avenue
to the heart of The Loop.

The ferris wheel at Navy Pier
begins to turn hypnotically,
attracting all walks of life.

A Muslim passes a Christian
on the street;
they smile at each other;
their backgrounds don’t matter.

Someone is calling;
someone is answering.
Today is the best day for one,
the worst day for another.

The day does its job to go on

Chicago fills its lungs,
then exhales life back home.
The sun colors buildings,
traces of day
to be soon replaced
by the form of lit office windows.

From a plane passing over,
the grid is a chessboard
waiting for the next day,
the next game.

"It’s colors glowed"
Jude kyrie 

At the beginning of time
The moon looked upon the earth.
And it smiled at its beauty.
There was no ending.
Only beginnings.
It’s colors glowed
in the hues of angels.
The only red
was in the night sky.
No blood had ever spilled.
Only the future lay ahead
In its endless bounty.
In the beginning of time
When peace abounded.
And no moon and star
had ever shed a single tear.

ask what the moon has seen
and the stars have witnessed.
"The colors make me feel calm."
Cara Keyser 

So, I have a thing for rainbows.
The colors make me feel calm.
They go white-pink-orange-yellow-yellow green- dark green- blue green-light blue-dark blue-indigo-light purple-dark purple-brown-black-grey-white.
I added some of those.
They seemed right.
I always put my markers in rainbow order.
It makes me mad sometimes.
Most people don’t know the rainbow order.
They don’t even try to look it up.
There’s a business
In my town.
Rainbow Cleaners.
They have a series of colored lights under their awning.
It goes blue-purple-lime green-neon orange-pink.
Driving by, I see
Those mistakes.
I’m ready to club someone.
But I’m not OCD.
That could be anybody.

So, I have a thing for my nails.
I look at them sometimes
For hours.
I buff them and file them and polish them.
I cut them I glue fake nails to them and pry those off.
I do all of these things,
Mostly to keep myself from doing
One thing.
I pick at them.
Til’ they’re to the quick.
Til they’re ugly and I wish they were longer
The other day I was listening to an audiobook.
I felt wetness at my fingertips.
It was warm and sick,
Like sweat,
But wrong.
I felt stinging
I looked down.
All my fingers were bleeding.
But I’m not OCD.
That could be anybody.

So, I have a thing for the lights.
They all have to be on
Or they all have to be off.
Someone told me on wastes electricity.
Off it is.
Making supper in the darkness,
I cut myself by accident.
I want to know how bad it is,
But if I turn on the kitchen lights,
All the others have to be on, too.
I run from run from room to room.
I don’t look at my bleeding hand.
I just turn on all of the lights.
They go kitchen-hall-upstairs hall-bedroom-bathroom-guestroom-downstairs again-living room-bathroom-laundry room.
In the laundry room, I can finally look.
It is awful.
I have left a trail of blood behind me.
To mark my path.
The right path.
The only path through the house.
But I’m NOT OCD.
That could be anybody.
So, I have a thing for my clothes.
The other day, they were wrong.
So I spent four hours naked organizing.
When I finally broke the trance,
That goes white-pink-orange-yellow-yellow green- dark green- blue green-light blue-dark blue-indigo-light purple-dark purple-brown-black-grey-shirts-jackets-dresses-skirts-palazzo pants-pants-shoes,
It was really late.
I had not made it to work.
I might be fired
Because I’ve done this before.
I might be OCD.
This does not happen to everybody.

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