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                      Colors

                      Published by Jeremy Szuder at September 24, 2022
                      Categories
                      • Blog
                      • Poetry
                      Tags
                      • Colors
                      • fire
                      • horse
                      • humanity
                      • pink ribbon
                      • poetry
                      a lake at sunset

                      Image created onCanva

                      A tired body sore with humanity
                      slowly dives into the petri dish
                      of magnification from the sun.

                      Fire from wood burns red and orange
                      but from ages away and doused
                      in gasses swirling by, it splits spectrums

                      like horses on a rapidly spinning carousel.
                      Vibrating visual pigments soak
                      every obtainable surface, signaling comfort

                      and telling me it is okay to assign
                      the sky to blue or the majority of trees
                      to some kind of variant of true green.

                      The colors are thrown like paper
                      airplanes hard through our bodies,
                      breathing in every drop of rainbow,

                      every last ribbon dipped in pink.
                      And the browns, never forgotten
                      as their massive shroud pokes

                      through the holes of every-man kaleidoscopes,
                      its murk makes for infinite depths
                      through terra firma to fool us all into a comfort

                      that assures us that it must end somewhere.
                      The glassy substances sprinkled
                      like party glitter all across this face

                      of planetary complexion, sponging rays
                      of central orbit and shooting into the moon
                      and back again in a playful zig zag

                      of color wheels that roll the personas
                      of every ample emotion into oblivion.
                      This is the work that colors do.


                      Looking for more poetry? Check out these offerings from the MockingOwl Roost contributors and staff.

                      • Elements of Freedom
                      • Returning
                      • Seventeen Years
                      Jeremy Szuder
                      + posts
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                      2 Comments

                      1. The MockingOwl Roost Why Not Horses? says:
                        March 3, 2023 at 12:06 pm

                        […] Colors […]

                        Reply
                      2. Mother’s Cry: MockingOwl Roost Poetry Corner says:
                        March 5, 2023 at 12:28 pm

                        […] Colors […]

                        Reply

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