When I was little, I told myself the color of war was gray
I guess it was easier for 6 year old me to imagine clouds that cried for people
But it made sense too
Because when those guns like Death's scythe fired,
the smoke twirled into the sky like whirlpools
And tanks left dull, blank tracks into concrete of where cars once drove
The only gray idea that actually stuck was a paradoxical gray area
But when I was 13 I changed my mind
The color of war was green in my head
I mean, that's what the soldiers wore when they went to battle
And the tanks were always left in camouflage of green
And it made sense when I thought they were heroes
After all, the Statue of Liberty was green too
But then I changed my mind again and for the final time
The color of war was red
The red from fire, the ones burning homes—the ones burning corpses
Did heroes even exist in war when the objective is to see blood flow on the streets?
Hate and anger, anger and hate—but when you open your eyes, you only see red
Out of all the colors, red definitely made sense
Because every trophy held in the name of "victory" comes from millions of corpses,
blood dry on the soil,
eyes red from crying,
and sky ready to set.
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This one is old so bare with me. Would love prompt ideas.
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Poetry: My Overthought Thoughts
PoesíaMy overthought thoughts of the universe-or stuff I wrote when I got bored. I wrote some of these years ago so some are meh but others are more recent. Would love to hear your thoughts 👍🏼 because I'm not sure where I'm going with this either :) I a...
