True Colors

True Colors

The color black is a con.
It spread in her hair,
Promised, "I shall shelter you."

The color red is a liar.
It stuck on her lips,
And said, "I love you."

The color gold is the devil.
It throbbed on her skin,
Laughed, "I want you."

The only true color is ashen.
It had peeped through her eyes,
Had insisted, "I warn you."

Heaven's Display

Heaven's Display

Here it was
The special day -
I readied again
Without delay.
I looked nice,
I daresay.
Dressed in my best
Black and gray.

There she was!
Heaven's display!
So I memorized
My words to say.
And though I grew
New feet of clay,
I didn't go back.
Nor ran away.

And then she laughed!
Such innocent way!
Finding a new
Method to slay
My little heart's
Attempts to sway
My Heaven's share
A bit my way.


[Related piece My Heaven's Share]

The Letter

The Letter

When had passed a few centuries
An answer was sent to my worries -
So I ran ahead to receive my shipment.

With trembling hands I searched in fear
For a sign of favor or a hint of sneer -
In the letter from God's department.

My mind jumped to dread so quick -
I fretted "What if it is too cryptic!",
And despaired I am bad at word-play!

But such fears were really unfounded
That little letter simply said -
No miracle is scheduled for today.

The Thing

The Thing

The Thing is very big -
Bigger than a man's head.
It is so big, in fact, it is
Bigger than Sky's spread.

The Thing is very small -
Smaller than a tear unshed.
It is so small, in fact, it is
Smaller than the color Voilet.

The Thing is very sharp -
As sharp as blades that behead.
It is so sharp, in fact, it is
Sharper than words unsaid.

It doesn't fit, it doesn't yield -
The Thing that lives in my head.
It cannot stay, it wouldn't leave -
The Thing I can't get out of my head.

Armor

I feel compelled to explain the use of 'wards' in this poem. 'Wards' has multiple meanings and I mean to use two of them simultaneously: 1, something (or someone) given in care of one's charge and 2, something (or someone) who guards or at least warns it case of an attack. 


Armor

When I was a child
Once, I got a burn;

My father blowed on it,
And blowed on it,
With such concern -

That though I kept
Hurting sure,

I said I don't,
So Father won't
Be hurting more.

Now I am grown,
And when I burn,

None and No
Tries to blow
With concern.

All other wards
I miss almost.

But, of my armor,
I miss my Father
The most. 

Winter

Winter

Others mistake for chapped skin -
All the cracks that appear in me.
They think my eyes water of cold -
When all the ache shows clear in me.
While I learn to hide the cracks,
Bear the ache, and act stronger -
Winter! Winter! won't you stay
A bit longer?