Probably not as funny as I think I am
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Over and under the blue we fly together, twining ‘til we end.
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Poets
I have always thought that blue is honorary black and white; like me.
Empty boxes, wrapped in bright, shiny blue paper; that is what we are.
Water spring, holding echoes of times long since past, binds through the ages.
Baby blue shutters white picket fence, suburb home feels like slow death march .
Soft, faded blue shirt you let me “borrow,” knowing I’d not give it back.
Sapphires fall like tears dripping from Swarovski stairs; your wealth bought you pain.
Ephemeral hue, moon blinks, and takes you with her, to hide from Sun’s wrath.
The Greek gods were capricious Of this all can agree, Servants to their many whims Bored of eternity. Though worshipped by their people
Blue door, always closed, “Daddy’s busy, go away,” Wished for just a crack.
Ghosts rise from the past to haunt under moonlit skies; with blue dawn, recede.
heart-strings, frozen stiff once pulsing with love and life; blue ice in your wake.
