Bright beams of sunlight trickle through the window The day is warm and inviting I look out on the flowered meadow Thinking of happy feelings and times Butterflies flutter in every color It’s days like today that are for memories So I’ll invite my friends to come play We’ll stay all day till the sun goes down And live in the moment now

These memories are overflowing more than you can hold.

You try to shift such weighted grief, but you can’t feel consoled.

It’s gonna get easier in time, or so you’ve been told.

But you think it’s not fair you’re the one who gets to grow old.

There’s just one thing you must remember to warm such downcast cold.

Even if your tears can’t dry, tomorrow will come in bold.

The sun will still always gleam in brilliant shades of gold.

The color of a winter maze, Of frozen snow and icy days.

The shade of innocence, pure and free, A babe untouched by destiny.

The haze my thoughts retreat into, While gazing at the pearly hue.

A fleeting breath, a world turned still, The quiet white of nature’s will.

Yellow reminds me of the haze The haze of innocence Of bliss Once everything was yellow Long ago Now everything is tinted blue Like someone holding a sad sad cello Is darkening the world There he goes The sad sad fellow With his cold dead face I shoot I hit him Right between the eyes He is dead. Gone without a trace…

Walking past fields of daises, Sun beaming down, Bumblebees floating by, Yet I can’t help but frown.

Buttercups and daffodils, Leading to a golden sandy beach, Perfectly yellow day, But blue is all I see,

Because I am walking without you.

The color of roses, smiling at you with their soft and comfort smell. _Thorns. _The color of freshly picked apples, gleaming a bright red,_ Poison. _ The news your relative will be okay, as it lights up the room pink, _Blood. __This is not about the color red at all, but white, and how actions and people can stain it all. _

most of the paintings that i find myself doing are what they call -abstract- and i take whatever color (s) i am feeling and i pour the paint in my hands on my arms and throw it against the canvas sometimes delicate and slow for •yellow and from a height l i k e r a i n for blue

but the color i throwthefastest is the c o l o r i use the most

because i can rarely paint if i am not feeling red

The color is ocean blue It’s the label of the Hawaiian beer bottle on my desk, one of the first colors I now see Eating pizza and drinking beer is maybe not something I should do But after a long day of work that doesn’t bother me

When I’m tired at the end of the day My will power doesn’t have much left to say I just want some comfort food and drink and watch tv The evenings are just not the best part of me

In the morning I wake up with motivation to grab the day by the horns But when the day is over I can sometimes feel like I’ve landed in the bushes and thorns Perhaps I’m occasionally pushing it too hard I have to admit, that might not be so smart

There is so much I want to accomplish, so much I want to do But after a day of work some rest is also due Perhaps a pizza and a beer on its time isn’t the worst thing Tomorrow is a new day and I’m not sure what it will bring But I’ll do my best not to use up all my energy, instead to pace myself So that when the evening comes I’ll pick something healthier than pizza and beer from the shelf

What does red mean?

Is it the fiery boil of anger saved for someone special?

Is it the deep and dreadful scarlet of blood along the floor?

Is it the candy apple of poison deep inside a heart?

Is it the ruby shade of power that consumes the brain in hold?

Is it the bright and lightning fire of danger in its path?

And all the dread that it represents.

Is it the cardinal of morning and hope that will be found?

Is it the maroon of love and loyalty that leads into a romance?

It is the cinammon of home and joyous sounds of laughter?

Is it the brick of a strong hold that will keep on centred?

Is it the mahogany of secrets and long awaited adventure?

But it can be all these things too.

Some will say the paths were blue, Others red, bold and true. But those who walked them remember well— They were crimson, Like Blood in Snow.

Violets sprouted everywhere— And life grew wild from every cost. A soft reminder of all that bled, Of paths once Blue, Now Violet instead.