There are colours, and then there are colours.
There is this widely mistaken belief that colours are impartial to the unblinded.
Oh, how dark their lives must be.
This book is a spectrum, a rainbow, a plethora of coloured emotions.
I've splashed my paints all over this book.
Of course, this is just poetry, but I think we all know nothing is ever just poetry.
These are tinted memories.
***
This book, as it will be, is split into seven parts.
***
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Orange.
Autumn leaves. Sunsets. The luminescent glow on someone's face when it lights up with love.
Rhyming poetry in its original form.
Red.
The rebels. Love. Power. War. A streak upon a blank canvas.
The poetry which doesn't rhyme.
Blue.
The view from a bridge. Ocean water glistening bright. The sky when your heart is light.
Raw prose with heartfelt emotion.
Purple.
Scents of Lilac. The bruised eye of the fighter next door. The wounds you couldn't count.
List poetry.
Yellow.
Sunflowers. Sunshine when you can't open your eyes. Compliments in the middle of a different conversation.
Mini poetry. Mostly four liners.
White.
Happiness that fades away. Innocence that outshines everything.
Scenes that take place over a time of less than five minutes.
Green.
Forest canopies. Grass tickling your feet. Fleeting moments.
Ten word stories.
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I hope this book encourages you to feel all the colours in your life.
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
