"ceruleans" poems
I fell in love with you one night in September
When crickets sang an ode to Autumn
When Gaea’s palettes matured to tones of herself
to the leaves, falling like tired angels
I remember the dying painter spitting his last few colors onto the sky,
Warm scarlets that professed themselves to be deep ceruleans and violets
When we watched, spaced, from the yellowed creaking picket fence
Wind chimes sighing in the subtle breeze.
You were the artist, a divine manifestation,
Wisps of hair breaking through your perfected face
An ocean of complexion in your eyes, hiding secrets
Reap the grains of my affection, throw it in the pitch
But I was colorless, achromatic
A beige canvas
You played me with your hues and tones and tints and
splatters of pigment
Sometimes, I’m painted vibrant oranges and yellows and reds and
pondering in sunflower fields, gentle raindrops resting on our shoulders,
crackling bonfires, leaping flames.
Pleasant comfort.
colors fade.
Vibrancy grows faint under grey.
Winter frost slithered to your heart, turned jet-black
Boreas’ wind swept you away.
Tobacco-scented Icarus, you’re bound to fall.
Ah, snowy white procession of death, take me!
Bare skeletons of trees shiver in the morning chill
A heaviness carries the shattered ice of your eyes
Unforgiving, piercing, daggers to my soul.
You fell in love with him one night in December, and I wait.
Minutes liquify, oozing to hours, seeping through cracks of my sanity.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 2:32 AM UTC
As the flaming hues of yellows and reds and oranges
Gracefully fall across the horizon
The sky darkens.
The receding rays of gold fire and frost blue
Fade into deep ceruleans and violet purples
Until there is a world of an unlimited shade of blacks and silvers
Decorated with a galaxy of stars
Spanning every shade, tone, and hue of a rainbow
And everything is, was, an will always remain
An explosion of colours
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
_Step in—_
my mind is an ocean
__not blue—__but a bleeding __iridescence__
of _molten violets_, rusted golds,
and bruised, unraveling ceruleans—
a palette spilled by a god having a dream.
You’ll see thoughts float here
like __jellyfish lanterns,__
soft, slow—laced in venom or velvet—
depending on how you look.
The sky never ends in here.
It folds like __cracked parchment,__
stretched over the aching arch
of my imagination’s bones.
There are trees made of __bone-white whispers__
and flowers with _petals like flame-licked lace._
They bloom to the rhythm
of my __pulse when I’m panicking,__
and wilt under the weight
_of a silence I can’t swallow._
There’s a path—
etched in the _ink of dreams I didn’t chase—_
it winds through forests of
__regret-shaped branches__
that scratch and __caress all at once.__
If you look to the left—
you’ll see a lake
_made of every word I’ve never said._
It shimmers,
but only under the moon
of someone else’s approval.
Birds here don’t fly,
they unravel.
Each feather a __fractured metaphor,__
each call a __dirge sewn with sunlight.__
I hide in corners lit by memory—
__a field of crooked constellations,__
each one a version of me
you’ll never meet,
but will __almost__ understand.
If you stay too long,
_you’ll forget your name,_
start to speak in echoes,
__and dream in static.__
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe that’s the way
to really see me.
Apr 29, 2025
Apr 29, 2025 at 3:26 AM UTC
through your eyes I want to see
vivid ambers and saturated ceruleans dance
fusing with each other
creating your earthly coppers
instead of my velvety violets
Dec 21, 2023
Dec 21, 2023 at 4:32 PM UTC