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I survive.

For the pallid ones who are swept away
in grief’s ashen, overfill goblet
that sips them sickly grey
as they’re wan and drowning
in anguish’s waxen, ill libate.

I survive
for their colourful words
they’re yet to spill, express, and say.

I wait.

Where wild water wields its waves
to caress a cobalt confluence
that a coveting current craves
from wide open ecru strands
to craggy inks in ocean caves.

I wait
where seized turquoise seas
set free the cyan rain.

I remain.

At spectral eyes that shed their wails
from mauve monsoons
of melancholic tribulates
past plum mangrove cheeks
with purple upsets graze.

I remain
at a violet teardrops
indigo starting place.

I abide.

Within a forest’s olive sway
where brown branch, unbroken
cleaves the sapphire spray
from burst storm clouds
on a blackened, bitter day.

I abide
within the viridescent leaves
that always yearn to stay.

© poormansdreams

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