Yellow
Looking at it now, I see it’s twist,
Revolve, sit back, corner, stand tall,
The passion of tinge,
Direct in it’s senses.
But the feelings I feel now are senseless,
Dire, despair, dread, demonic,
Excuses made, guilt held, rewind I may?
Trusting a vision, but hue-less seen.
In the morning I’ll see it,
Direct in gaze, indirectly,
For powerless, but a peon I am, one among,
Drifting ever slowly, sea-less, un-driven.
In only vague emotion I’ll take it in,
Sheltered, relapsing, patterns of lemon,
Breathe in the only color that makes me blue,
And fall over, edge-less, but gone and gone.
Copyright © David A. Cain | Year Posted 2015
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