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Literature Text
Blue...
That was our color.
I held on to you.
I didn't want you to go.
If I let go,
You'd be gone,
For the summer.
But you released yourself,
From me.
You promised,
You'd be back.
You promised,
To bring me something blue.
You didn't.
Before you left,
You plucked a,
Bluebonnet.
You gave it to me.
To help you remember,
You said.
You never came back.
The bluebonnet wilted,
And died.
In time,
My heart did too.
Blue,
Was our color.
Do you remember?
That was our color.
I held on to you.
I didn't want you to go.
If I let go,
You'd be gone,
For the summer.
But you released yourself,
From me.
You promised,
You'd be back.
You promised,
To bring me something blue.
You didn't.
Before you left,
You plucked a,
Bluebonnet.
You gave it to me.
To help you remember,
You said.
You never came back.
The bluebonnet wilted,
And died.
In time,
My heart did too.
Blue,
Was our color.
Do you remember?
Literature
blue
Was it mere months ago;
the span of
a lifetime for a crab.
Who would say?
But I knew it was years-
my own lifetime ago.
Where would I be if
I hadn't sensed it up my spine,
on the back of my neck-
if I hadn't felt you walking
aimlessly on the strand.
I was oblivious to the cold,
even as I quaked from the wind
as sunset approached.
I had to know,
now that you existed.
The world was monotone,
even the waves from
within the shells sunken
in the wet sand at low tide
before the last of daylight blinked
from the fog rolling in.
It happened at breakwater-
I laid eyes on you for the
first and
Literature
no prussian blue lullabies
'electric blue' has never done your eyes justice.
electricity has been tamed, with all of her secrets thrown open in the autopsy; her rebellions are short-lived despite their charred aftermath. it's all about the attention, really; she knows that her spine is chained to backbreaking circuits, her fingers to fast-fading bulbs and her words to delicate sparks. she barely protests any more, accepting her confinement and tirelessly pumping, breathing her energy into those objects that crave her life.
but your irises, boy, have never known the rein.
they are the glint of ice in the arctic, the head-on crash of poolwater with the sun. they are t
Literature
Dream
When I woke up this morning, my eyes were moist,
Though for a moment the reason eluded me,
But then it hit me, it had been you,
Crying in the dream.
I had held you close to me,
So close that your breath became mine,
So close that a salty taste lingered upon my lips,
There as you laid in my arms, and cried.
I try hard now to remember the details,
But to my dismay, just the tears are clear as day,
Everything else seems so distant,
Hidden, it seems, in the folds of my brain.
People would say, it was just a dream,
But how could I have felt your weight,
On my shoulders, and the wetness of your eyes?
So much so, that I was moved to t
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A poem for The Writers Review, based on the word blue.
© 2010 - 2024 phantomflamz
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