Grey, Forgotten

I am the color brown.
Brown as the mud on my hands.
Brown as a churning dirty spring river.
Brown as the fur of a diminutive mouse…
No, I am not quite brown.

Perhaps I am the color black.
Black as cooled lava flows.
Black as the starless night sky.
Black as his eyes dilated in passion…
No, I am not quite black.

Perhaps I am the color red.
Red as deep late sunset.
Red as molten voracious nights.
Red as the blood coursing thru my veins…
No, I am not quite red.

Perhaps I am the color yellow.
Yellow as a dandelion’s delicate petals.
Yellow as the sun reflecting off the sea.
Yellow as his delighted laughter in me…
No, I am not quite yellow.

Perhaps I am the color grey.
Grey as the rain in October.
Grey as the bark of my favorite tree.
Grey as the remaining ash in a fire pit…
Yes. I am certainly grey.

But then again….
with you, I am bursting forth in color:
Crimson as an opening rose.
Peach as a flickering candle flame.
Gold as a sunrise watched from within your arms.
Emerald as the endless fields of summer wheat.
Teal as a still lake’s surface.
Violet as the sky at twilight.
White as the sun shining through a cloud.

Yes. You make grey forgotten.

tara caribou | ©2022 revised

Read more like this in my poetry book, Fallen Star Rising.

50 Comments on “Grey, Forgotten

  1. Since the past 4 years now, I’ve related to this greyness as well.
    May we both have a splash of color in our lives soon ❤. (and oh, don’t mind the notifications. It’s just me checking out your all your work that I missed. I can’t seem to fall asleep for some reason)

    Liked by 2 people

  2. We are indeed far more than the sum of our parts – and aren’t we all a rainbow of colours at our best – and yes, sometimes we shine through the impact of others. A great poem, Tara.

    Liked by 2 people

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Robert Charboneau.

Writer and Artist

living document

a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind

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