The Colour of Truth

They said it was blue, but it's not.

They painted the house blue to hide their shame,

Because sadness sells so well,

More than anything else.

It's supposed to be yellow,

The colour of vicious evil, peril,

Lurking behind, stealing my sleep,

Plotting behind the back of a pantser.

A writer driven by discovery,

I find more adventure outdoors than in.

Yet, the inner world holds the greatest significance.

When all else lost its meaning,

My spirit endured the conflict.

The inside now heals the outside.

Whoever dares to listen and heed good advice,

Born from suffering, close to nothing,

When everything crumbled, something remained.

Born beneath invisible pain,

Teaching the most crucial lesson: regret

Is the only guest that never arrives.

Why would I regret someone else's choices?

Perhaps I exerted a poor influence,

Or an insufficient one?

These paths were clearly going nowhere.

Lies flooded everything, burying the truth.

The truth is blue, so why doesn't anyone believe me?