Hold On to Me

He sings color, tendrils of black and cream.
I can hear him, but only occasionally
whispering soft snow
over an unused phoneline.

Once, I understood him.
As my vision sunk into
orange infra and blue/purple technicolor.
The whisper loud and soft.

My fingertips seared, my lungs heaving,
crying for human oxygen,
I heard his rumble.
The vibrations tasted of power.

He comes during my foggy moments
of transcendental wonderment and
tea lights flickering in the shape
of a triangle.

And, my God, I saw him.
Gold white light, splitting
the paisley fractals sinking into 1/2/3 eternities.
He told me to find him with the smear of everything.

Author's Note

I haven't had much guidance in writing poetry. I'm fairly new at it. My goal is to receive constructive criticism. Advice is greatly appreciated. <3

Reviews

[LastMonth]

This is something different.
I actually had to read it several times.

At first I didn't like it.
The second time, it grew on me.
The third time, I think I understand.

This is nice. You don't restrain the reader, you carefully sneak around the words, giving only shadows of meanings rather then implicate your intentions.

Keep writing.