I am that painting your
parents hung on the walls.
A confusing pattern
and paint you swore was
glow-in-the-dark
even thought it was only neon.
You didn't understand it but
each day you gazed like
it was the first time you've
ever laid eyes on it.
Even as the colours dulled
over the years you still
enjoyed it.
I hope you'll still see me
the same way.
YOU ARE READING
poetry
Poetrypoetry is when an emotion has found its thought, and the thought has found words -robert frost. all poems are mine unless stated otherwise. just thought i'd give someone a taste of my mind. #4 in ode
