No Name
Touched the sky—
this blue isn't mine.
The sea, the greens,
the grass, the bees,
the mighty trees.
Every color touched one life.
Then why does mine deceive the eye?
Borrowing shades from every passing thing
Could that be why
I sit alone in white light?
The palette holds a thousand colors,
yet none can paint me.
It's always what meets the eye.
The palette never seemed mine.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
