This is an old one, wrote this while waiting for my next class, that was more than a decade ago:
Love is not red
But jet-black
Like the inside of a moaning cello;
Dark but warm,
Secluded and safe,
Secure but trembling on
Two everlasting notes
Sliding through an endless thrill.
Love is not red but ultramarine,
An ocean of immeasurable strength,
Pacific,
At times blustery,
Deep, mysterious,
And beautiful.
Love is silver-gray
Like the color of the sound
Of a clock's second hand
Chipping its way through eternity
Love is verdant,
A forest,
Lush,
vast, Wild,
Enchanting.
Love is cosmic latte,
the color of all light in the universe,
boundless,
timeless.
Love is not red
But yellow,
Not the coward,
But the bold yellow streak
Of early morning sunlight
That slants through the window
And invades the bed
Where the anatomy of bliss
Sprawls naked.
About Me
- Pastilan
- General Santos City, Philippines
- "The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars, and in the middle, you see the blue center-light pop, and everybody goes ahh..." from On The Road (by Jack Kerouac)