The Color Brave
In a sea full of green, so wide and still,
Where every leaf leans to the wind’s will,
They whisper the rules in rustling tones,
“Grow alike, sway alike, don’t stand alone.”
But somewhere beneath that uniform sway,
A pulse beats red in a quiet display.
Not loud, not proud—just power contained,
A fire untouched, a soul unchained.
The green is safe, a shade of peace,
But peace that comes with a silent lease—
Where edges are softened, voices are tuned,
And difference is trimmed before it's bloomed.
Yet red does not ask for permission to flare,
It rises in contrast, alive and rare.
It doesn’t compete—it simply exists,
A bold contradiction the green resists.
So how does one find what breaks the mold?
Not by chasing, but by being bold.
Not by looking with everyone’s eyes,
But by daring to seek what the world denies.
You find the red by refusing to bend—
By being the color that didn’t blend.
The X in the formula no one could name,
The reason the pattern never stayed the same.
Copyright ©
Liza Ortiz
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