The color of my life.
The color of my soul,
Isn’t the blue of the skies,
Or the color of the eyes.
It lies in the waves of the unforgiving sea,
Pounding me into its crushing depths.
It hums the loneliness of “Blue”,
Echoing the joyous sound of “Blue Christmas”.
It sails me away to Roy’s “Blue Bayou”,
To sit beneath the “Neon Moon.
The prism explodes into dazzling colors,
Only to reveal my deeply flawed and troubled soul.
It leads me into the paths of doubt and dismay,
Searching for my long-lost tail.
I am surrounded by a color I do not love,
But a color I cannot hate enough.
For the color of my life,
The color of my soul,
Is a well worn and deeply faded
Shade of blue.
About the Creator
Mark Lewis
Searching for my voice in this shiny, brand-new vocation called writing. I've been writing for years, but never solely as a writer. I was always writing for school or work, but now, I'm writing as my profession.
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Trigger warnings: Violence, Death. "May the Sun burn your tongue out, woman," Fredrick's father screamed the curse into his mother's ear as their elegant little carriage rumbled along, its polished wood and gilded trim glinting in the torchlight. They had just left the small village of Saffron and were on an unnamed road to the capital for the Royal wedding. Fredrick leaned back in his plush velvet seat to escape into the passing landscape, but across from him sat the servant boy, a scrappy lad named Jack. Jack's eyes held a mixture of awe and fear, the kind that only a commoner could feel in the presence of nobility. Jack looked up and caught Fredrick's gaze, offering him a sad little smile before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a little caramel treat. This candy was no doubt stolen from the kitchen treat cupboard; if he was caught with it, he would be locked in the box as punishment.
By Frank English6 days ago in Fiction
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