Maybe nostalgia is yellow,
An old picture that lost its color over time
A room in the hour where the afternoon is bright
A happy little flower that is on the ground when you see it get blown by the wind.
Or perhaps it's blue
A sad melody on the radio,
A horrible place where it all began
A lonely room at the darkest of nights
Who am I kidding? Obviously, it's both
It's a mix of colors, of emotions I hide
A brick, so solid yet so fragile
That I never wanted to touch a fragment of
Not even a strand in fear that it would hurt me, that it would want me blind
YOU ARE READING
Let It Drizzle
Poetrycollection of poems that define one's mind. A poem for some memory and throught that 'I' have. Though, would it really be that special if I said it's for my self....?
