Rose & Thorn Poetry

Trying something different. This poem is just as much about appearance as the words.  Monochrome Some days I feel like I’m living in monochrome and everyone else is living in color and I just can’t experience the beautiful colors.  They look so happy smiling in that special way  Doing sweet things and living a lovely day  But I can’t say I’ve felt the same Hazy grey, lackluster mist Ashen taupe Lacerated hope, grasping at wind  They say the world is vibrant  Endowed with glossy hues  An endless adventure  A treasure-trove discovered  Look at them, excitement profuse  Life of colors everyday imbued  Joy on their faces suffuse  Bright beads adorn their necks  They live in dazzling array  Not one trace of grey Daunting hours spread on end Ragged, haggard This unbecoming state Undressed yet clothed in bleakness --curse this weakness-- It is myself I begin to hate  ...

Until Spring Comes The world is cold and listless grey, Subdued in its winter coat arrayed. Bright colors from seasons past, Reds, blues, purples, pinks, All lost, no longer on display. The thief that bereaves the land-- Where delicate blooms once did unfold And evenings ended lined with gold-- Will at last stay its hand. Wind whisks through deserted trees, Their brittle branches void of leaves. Wistful dreams of warmer days, Sleeping green vanquished by grey, The land waits, Until spring comes again.

"Autumn" A gust rushed through languid leaves Unleashing them from captor trees. Trading longer days for hastened nights Umber leaves skim the earth in sinking sunlight. Measured changes gradually increase, Now appear spicy scents, cooler air, sticky sweets, Apparel of sweaters and scarves in a sudden gush. Ubiquitously the environs announce, awash with telltale proof This advent perfected,  no longer aloof. Under steely skies and cold biting air, where unbound leaves rattle and rasp Muted shadows lengthen their darkening grasp. Nothing remains untouched, the world tinted with autumn sun’s setting blush.

The warmth of concrete on a golden summer eve, And the chill of concrete on a grey winter’s morn, The way it feels changes with the seasons. Whether cold or warm, joyful or forlorn, One is not perfect nor better than another. It’s simply a matter of difference; Favored seasons exist as a concern of preference. Warm days of sunshine and pensive days of rain, Bright days of happiness, dark days of pain, An opposite for everything, within a never ending range. The reason for seasons and the reason for change? There is something good within all life’s alterations And experience to be gained in every frustration, Strength to be built from every temptation. Unearth the treasured moments with diligent fixation, And enjoy their splendor to full duration, But don’t love a season so greatly, That you aren’t willing to part sedately, To kindly say adieu, And welcome the next debut.