Your Blues Colored My Skies

maybe I began not as a baby waiting inside you

but the canvas you meant to be your masterpiece—

flooded with all the paint of your cascading emotions.

when I was so little and you were so big to my eyes,

you were a flare of yellow-orange, sunshine personified,

the warmest thing in my ever-expanding world of colors.

things changed when you began to wilt from sickness,

your reds seeping out more and more every single day,

until I was splattered from all the excess pain and fury.

and then there were the blues that flooded outward,

nearly taking me in the undertow of your turbulent tide,

until I couldn't see through the murky waters you emitted.

what I remember most of all is the nearing of your end,

and all the grays that followed like silent soldiers marching,

leaving me desolate in the encroaching shadows of grief.

now I face myself, the canvas you littered with colors—

no masterpiece, I know, but something is there in the chaos—

and I see it, like a revelation, a vision: the rainbow of you.