Synesthetic Poem

A poem about synesthesia, which is a crossing over of the senses (look it up) Personally I associate pictures with sounds and smells, and colors with letters and numbers. Here's a window into my world. :)

 

It starts with my name

A definite red beginning fading next to green

In the middle...I'm not sure

Some light purple? Yes...

A black ring?  I'm not sure

I know it will be green in the end

But names are hard

Letters

Together they are fiends, they taunt me so

They like to change each other

Elusive

Out of reach

 

Numbers are a sure thing

In the single digits

They are clear, defined, sensible

Clearwhiteblueredgreenpinkgoldenamber

Though, the one closest to my heart is the most elusive

How ironic...

But it finishes darkly in a purple-black mantle

They change some too, towards the end

But they aren't as bad as the letters

They are bound by numeric sensibility

Not the passions of the word or speech

 

Heh, the spoken word

So much different than your paper-bound twins

I cannot see your colors at all

Words escape me

I can only see the sounds

Of the human voice

 

But that is the whitest stag of all

Elusive in the back of the room

My voice

Your voice

Our voice

What are they but blank canvases?

 

The world of music, now that

that

is a sight

 

The orchestra a rich painting

Golden lines fading into amber threads along white bows

They are the trees under an open sky, the beautiful horse, the earth

They are freedom

Saturated reds and oranges like liquid metals blaring out from the brass

Phoenixes rising

Wet fire

The winds blow sweetly in my ear

Songbird ducks

They are many and varied, light and dark

But all are oddly crooked in my sight

Twisting in some way or another

The percussion are like stage wings, always on the border like white columns

Or underneath, thundering in my heart and cradling the earth

The ivory keys

Bringing to mind always a foggy wood after the rain

The drip of water from the branches

Or perhaps a seaside cliff in blue

Foggy as well

 

But then that black and yellow curl cuts in

Billowing smoke

Clouding my eyes

Making me slam down the skip button

Lest I remember

 

I go to the bathroom to dry my eyes some

and I can smell the white chairs and table

under the jewel-green tree on a cliffside

below a stone villa

that the cleaner left behind

 

When I put on my favorite perfume

My nose crusts up with amber and rosin

Brown snowflakes and brown sugar shards

Making me sneeze

 

The true picture of a person

Always masked by so many scents

I'm not quite sure what that is

Though it is so important

 

But my favorite painting

is the green smell of the river

That one I am sure of

It was my first painting

The one I like to show everyone

Before I remember

That all most can see

Is an empty frame

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you for taking the time to read. :)