Golden. Golden skin. The color of a burnt sunset. A magnificent gold. An aura that made the skies blush with pride.
And I was in love.
The color ran through my hair and bit at my ankles. Like wind through trees.
The color smelt like spring, and a thousand kisses, promising redemption against lost love. My lost love.
But, the trees bring renewal and the earth brought me not another love. But a thing. A feeling. Like a tarnished diamond set in gold. The skies made me a gift, painted me a sunset make of gold and silver and many deep hues to mourn the love I lost. But the colors also celebrated the life I found. A true love I'd never part with: the smell of twilight.
And it was then that I realized my purpose. To love and to be loved was never enough for me.
So, to return the gift to the skies, I gave them my life. That I may paint sunsets for those who have lost love too. And so, when I hear the cries of heartbreak, I paint the skies. I paint them like dirty rivers. Gold. I paint them as they smell. Gold. I paint them as the color of tears. Gold. And maybe, one day, gold will be enough.
~comment your thoughts, I'd love to hear!~
YOU ARE READING
Art isn't always beautiful
PoesíaA collection of poems, from deeply sorrowful narratives of lost love, to lustful laments for cigarettes. Joyous songs are rare, as this is an authentic representation of life. And life isn't always beautiful. {All works accredited to WildeYouth}
