surrounded
you write in black and white
what color are the evenings
when the sun sets by the sea
what color are the first dates
when a glance starts butterflies
what color are the faces
when they see you unguarded
what color do you find in minutes
spent by the fire on a cold night
spent with a lover on morning trips
spent with a lover over the wires
spent alone on top of the Mountain
you write in black and white
but never let that stop you
from saturating your being
with vibrant life.
what color are the evenings
when the sun sets by the sea
what color are the first dates
when a glance starts butterflies
what color are the faces
when they see you unguarded
what color do you find in minutes
spent by the fire on a cold night
spent with a lover on morning trips
spent with a lover over the wires
spent alone on top of the Mountain
you write in black and white
but never let that stop you
from saturating your being
with vibrant life.
posted by kileyd at 11:30 AM
2 Comments:
This, my blogger friend, is why you are a poet, because to you those instances are never surface-deep. And while I have done all those things you write about, never have I wondered what color they are. I do now.
PS-This poem reminds of The Great Gatsby, if you have read it. I imagine this is the feeling F. Scott Fitzgerald was invoking when he wrote about how man must have felt upon viewing this land for the first time, the vast openness commensurate with only the beauty found in love, passion, and the capacity for wonder.
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