purple skies

Who is allowed to paint the sky? Who determined its banners of blue? Who will stop me from splashing in red? To give it a hopeful purple hue.

I hate the blues of the world. The somberness spoils the sun. It hardens the clouds into lumps. Is purple not stardust spun?

Who chose the lights of the morning? Who chased the night into dark? Is day not a shadow of reality? Night is where every dream sparks.

I’ve repainted the sky a violet haze. the reds and blues race to the horizon. They swirl and spin and strum. Ribbons to wrap the world in.

time passes me by

everything is all so green/ i paint the world in various shades/ the hues bounce around the atmosphere/ from the oak trees to the grass blades

the pages in my book flip/ the wind shuffles them around/ the aroma flits up to my nose/ from where i lay on the ground

my steeping tea cools in the air/ the steam is hit by the crisp sky/ i imagine a kite drifting above/ and read on to the next line

the sunlight pours in after the moon/ my windows are an open, endless void/ the wind floats on through to me/ i can imagine the asteroids

the music dances in my ears/ each beat is a tap and a twirl/ each note is a ribbon floating in the air/ i wear each lyric like pearls

the smell of cinnamon bursts on in/ i wrinkle my nose in delight/ my eyes, green and wide and awake/ for this cloud i’m on is light