halfway through the play

The leaves do not turn
and they pretend all is well. Or

maybe it is, I don’t know.

Some twigs are dying
from being in the sun for too long.
It is how it is, they say.
I’ve always taken it for granted
until a leaf touched me as it fell,
telling me I might have missed
a lot of things
and I will miss a lot more.

Unless I write my own story.

Colors belong to leaves and bushes
so while they’re clinking their wine glasses
in the intermission, I’ll find a place
adorned with crimson and tangerine.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

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filled with emptiness

Leaves are turning, urging us to turn the page, the colors anew. Some trees never forget how we napped and kissed beneath their shade, whispered poetry in each other’s ear, breathing life into love’s passionate verse.

Just like some hearts will always remember how pregnant promises are nothing but hollow words.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

choosing flames

A mythic want to be with you
translated into dreams.

Heart-shaped smiles
hanging from stars
in dramatic colors.

The ones you let me choose
before they all
burst into flames.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

revulsion

I’ll stick with this shade of black,
thank you very much.
I’ve seen your blinding colors
all sweetness
more than honey to the bees,
and they made me feel
nauseated.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

the wrong shade

You loved all things dark. Except me. For you, I was the wrong shade of black.

I misunderstood the reason for the colors you brushed across my canvas. It was not to splash hues on my fading pages, but to show the world the richness of your palette.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

coloring us

Sit here next to me beneath the tree
I’ll show you the dreams I drew in my book
tell me if you like the colors
I put on me and you.

Red is for the heart offered on a plate,
blue is for the lungs gasping for air,
because our lips are kissing
so hard.

Black is for the rock that is my strength
covered in white that is your soul
and the wiggly green lines here are the way
your touch tickles my core.

Let’s not forget the purple shades
smeared all across our horizon
married with the crimson hues.
And when sunset nudges us
to say goodbye to twilight
tomorrow we’ll come back here
and go through the pages
again.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

the thing with colors

She built a place each for her dark and her light,
got lost when searching for black and white.
One fine night she came back to find
gray
everywhere.

The colors descended
out of nowhere, taking her to places
higher than cloud nine.

Mesmerized by the hues she never
saw before, she picked one
closest to what she knew.

As she bathed in the warm
comforting pond of the new shade
showered by passionate hum
of hearts,
the sky opened up to let storm reign.

With eyes once sparkling with awe
now puzzled and subdued,
she watched raindrops
steal the rainbow
and make love to the sea.

A reminder that gray was where
she belonged.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved