From the back,
It shines green,
Vibrant and muted at the same time,
Excited and confident.
From the left,
It shines white,
Blindingly so, so bright that it
Distracts you from everything else in the room.
From the right, it shine blue,
Calm and collected,
And quietly handsome.
From the front,
It shines yellow,
Bright yellow of freedom and independence
And separation from the chains that hold it down.
As it spins and spins,
An artist picks his painting,
The star hovering just below the left-hand corner.
But what color,
We all think,
Should the painter paint the dot?
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryAll of our colors are different, and mine are still lost to oblivion. You can watch me try to find them.
