White.
White is not
The absence of color.
But in fact
Every color in existence.
Black.
Black is what you get
When you mix
Every color paint you own.
But black
By it's very definition
Is the devoid lack of light and color.
With light there is color.
Because light is color.
But black.
Black is
When there is
Nothing.
Black is cold.
And hateful.
It cares for no one.
Taking lives and hopes.
It steals and consumes
Offering nothing in return.
Except of course
Emptiness.
Hopelessness.
That steadily increasing feeling
That you're on the edge of a cliff
And the darkness has offered you a hand
And then pushed you off.
It is cruel.
And harsh.
It is nothing.
But now
It is my everything.
I'm lost in the inky blackness.
And I'm not sure
I can get out.
All I'm hoping for now
Is for my eyes to adjust
So I can see more than just
Black.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts
PoetryMy thoughts tend to form like poems, so I figured I'd share them- part of me hoping they make sense to more than just myself.
