Faded blues

Red is my rage,

and blue is the wave;

thus this green shades do hate that

air.

Yellow makes it better

on white snow;

. . only black knows how a purple can,

and make the night sweet as a vermillion dawn into another.

I see none in my midnight sky.

Feeling a rainbow mist on my eye,

my heart torn into a hazy shade of a worn silver grey.

I only to see 'you' in purest void of my black hairy feet.

What eternal golden haze of my winter days, cast these steel tears;

mingles with my po-ta-toe skin:

bitterly in a golden fried memories in an uncooked pan

Only you and I need a key to give hand in hand.

Mine,

a tumultous jagged peaks in my stoic skies of alizarin and cobalt lies,

at my feet,

not in hand.

Yours a charcoal halo;

misty haze upon chromatic days;

silked by a past in sepia blaze.

Two in one,

we may have a good one,

not yet.

But:

you will be immortalized ,

here in my digital hand.

Only then a heart is painted at the gallery of my pain;

years came in at the helm of blue grey eyed disdain.

I will rest until mine blended with your traumatic rain.