Thrift Thoughts

The water drops

On windowshops

Painting pictures of their own

Remaking the past, as if they've known

The colors and their secrets, the music in my head

The laughter as it echoed, and the all the voices that I dread

As I trace my fingers along to make sense of the dew

I think of all the had beens of my formiddable hues

Of the red that colors my lips in love

Of the anger, the fire, the spirit of my blood

Of the gray tones, the remnants of my fading smiles

The ash, the waste that goes on for miles

I think the blue for the skies that were

The cottonseed breeze in an intensifying blur

I think the green for my whimsical rage

That makes home on my skin, makes my crazy my cage

I think of the pink and the happiness I had

The flush of my cheeks, I can no longer stand

And then I think of the black, the oblivion, the end

The gravity of it as it pulls me back into the blend

Of emotions, of all I thought I'd escaped

And I looked back to see all the borderless shapes

I see me, I see you, I see a rainbow of the "had beens"

And I pull my finger out of that void

I wave a hand over the dew drops

On the windowshops, now won't let them speak

I'll love the colourlessness that brings with it a silence so sweet