Gord

2024-07-21 08:49 pm

Yellow, and a bit of blue,
Both, I, and you. Purple, 
Lilac, I just care not for it.

Just like you never cared for me, 
Or any of the things that I thought. 
Fetch mother, friends, for comfort. 
Tell your co workers, or consort.

I, no longer for dramatic concert,
Agriculture of the hallway, march,
July, august or months of autumn,
Yellow, burst into skies of orange.
See If I toss and turn about it.

Like, he drives a porche, owns gold,
Fire and opal in his coat pockets.
Like, the eyes of horses see god,
They see not much beyond carrots,
Understand little of soap, clothes.
Like, maybe you cared for poems,
Little for poets, less even for prose.