Blue

Blue air

on the streets and in your hair

seeping into blood still traveling

oxygen-lit and sweet

 

Blue tears

on your palms and beyond your years

wept upon the altar of things you've seen

embedded in corneal lenses

 

Blue words

on your lips and wings of birds

attached with wire as they wait

to fly your sorrows aloft

 

Blue day

still on the books until flown away

to a realm where sadness dies

and only memory markers remain

Reviews

[Forest Green]

Days, no matter how enchanting or indebting or satisfying...or even blue, do elevate themselves and spend so much of their color on the horizon.

Dabbed with the sincerity of an artist's brush, memory will never completely let them go, but will touch them in some way one day, with the kindness of life's colorful clarion call.

Good work...excellent.

[Ed Hart]

'all the world is made of faith...' (especially for poets whose hearts sing whether they will or no)

[Tate Morgan]

While Im no stranger to the bluer aspects I try not to dwell upon their influences as I might lose myself.But I get to go the trans Siberian tomorrow. My computer is messing up and I think Im getting older lol

[.........]

I absolutely love this poem. The color blue is enough description to fill your words exactly with enough emotion to portray this beautifully. Wow, just wow