Blue and the Moon
When the blue hydrangea wakes and blooms,
The whispers of beautiful, abused souls jumps over the moon.
Oh, its just so endearingly beautiful, isn't it?
To see a faint beauty, so sad yet true.
I guess, perhaps you may say...
The hue is blue.
I talked with a stranger in the cafe today,
I ventured to discuss the beauty of the blue,
but she said 'no way!'
'Sadness is the only path to that play.'
Filled with confusion,
I tilt my head,
Perhaps I have the innocence and the naivety of a child,
That the beauty of one loved thing,
I left misread.
Is she right or am I wrong?
Did I fervor such a bad thing for so long?
Anyways I said so,
'Then why do we let the beauty in sadness echo?'
'If sadness weren't to be admired, why don't we let it go?'
The lady's lips pursed to a frown,
Saying 'Oh sweet summer child, don't let the admiration in you forego.'
With that she left,
Leaving me consume my thoughts,
Carrying the weight of my instability furthermore.
Time passed by,
I've grown all now and more,
And now I realised;
I wasn't really wrong.
The blue may fill us with darkness, but so what?
The haunting beauty still fills the air,
So, why shall we feel nothing but despair?
Now readers, I must leave you be,
For appreciating all beauty in others,
Is a task in life we must learn and succeed.
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