Perhaps we do not choose our colors. Perhaps they choose what we are unwilling to name.
There are things the mind cannot always put into words, so it leaves traces elsewhere. Maybe in shades that brighten, pale, deepen, or disappear. This piece wanders through such traces, following colors as they pass through something that may be a memory, a feeling, a person, or none of these at all. What begins in brightness slowly finds itself somewhere less certain, where water keeps its reflections and the surface refuses to tell what lies beneath. Perhaps the colors are only colors. Perhaps, they have been saying something all along.
After all, a swamp has never been particularly fond of giving back what enters it.
-
let me tell you a story
of one that trembles,
taps the innermost fears,
though as uncanny as it appears,
perhaps a tale still worthy to hear.
there was once yellow,
joy, all chiffon and mellow,
burning #FFF200
before fading into #FFFACD.
suppose it may be sad,
such pallor was no fad.
for who should be gloomy is blue,
the lass is said to be true,
such saturation, such a hue,
how deep she is, I knew:
a #39546d, nothing new.
they eloped into the suburbs,
beneath the forest of the belfry,
amid the screams of the gentry,
oh, into a translucence
of coupled droplets, so tense,
where reflections fracture
what the eye insists is real.
at long last, they finally twined,
it is where we are to be, all in time.
one step, two steps, from the lime
of light, where edges blur and rhyme,
all will be done and maim.
into Adam's ale, the grim virid,
where yellow drowned
and blue remained vivid.
then so the myth continues,
yet so the beloved lurks in between,
somewhere beneath the surface,
somewhere the eye cannot discern,
come to me, all you who are weary
and burdened, and I will give you rest
my child, my #00FF00, get dressed.
Telos.
[Photo Credits]
https://vocal.media/theSwamp/the-swamp-nature-s-mysterious-and-vital-wetland
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𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘅𝗶𝗮 (αταραξία)
PoesíaA poetic sanctuary where contradictions find harmony-a delicate interplay of sorrow and joy, chaos and stillness. Each verse is a whisper in the quiet dome, a gentle unraveling of emotions that exist in paradox. It is a refuge for the restless, a so...
