The Colors From

Well, growing up. We all are doing it. We all are doing it our own way and I'm not sure that I'm ready for it but I guess I have no other choice. That is what this boils down to. I'm sure anyone that reads this can somehow relate to it.

"The Colors From"


A new territory, staggered with bare stones
Tore me apart and I pinned the shards of
Nothingness to my bedroom ceiling
For the mere reason that I need something
To keep me occupied while my mind
Accepts the idea that somnolence is a treaty

Any sentence fragment that starts with the word new
Must bring a fruit basket with fruit flies and
Other insects that bleed blood of loneliness
So the bare white walls soak in an identity
An opaque color from the baroque period
A darker shade of maroon or a better beige

Maybe the sun will melt the newfound colors
Onto my creole skin and take me to a place
That I am slightly more familiar with
That guards gourds of the fall whose shades
Make me feel like this could be a street
That the correct noun to describe it would be home

Pardon my stumbles and extended verbiage
I was never good at relaying foreign feelings
Onto the white pages of the white walls
Who are begging me to tell their stories
The unknown perils that will soon fall
From their eyes as the year ripens their veins

I’ve gathered my canvases from my pasts
Childhood, adolescence, partially subjected
Ideas of adulthood I’m not ready for
They have the colors mixed together
Primary then secondary on the wheel of time’s age

My trembling hand is ready to take the first stroke
On something I’m not quite ready for but
I guess that is what growing up is all about.
I just pray that it becomes the colors you’ve
Always dreamed I would be able to create
From the late night events that drown
Next to the sunlight’s morning crown

Fruit In A Bread Basket

I really don't know what to say about this one besides I don't know if the structure is right yet. I like how it sounds and flows. I just am not sure how it should look to a reader, ie. a block of text, stanzas, paragraphs...

"Fruit In A Bread Basket"

Faith peeled open like a ripe orange tonight.
All in one piece, perfect, it peeled just right.
It leaked expensive perfume of daring women
Who used forged hundred-dollar bills
To satisfy thier hungered fruition.

The scent is just as I had always imagined,
One lodged between a pomegranite and nectarine.
I didn't dare touch it's precious bare skin for
Fear it would fall into ten symmetric pieces and
Force me to choose between such succulent delicacies.

But I wonder about her taste and the punishment
I'd pay to let such beauty go to waste.
Ponder the balance of sheer exploration and sin
As saliva drips from my church of a chin,
Down into the grooves of her spine.

The complex sugar chains of immaculate fruit
Displaced my concept of morals and the prices
I would be willing to pay them with in pain.
Temptation oozed from the aged grapes
As they took my hand and whispered
"We know the things you need to do."
I wouldn't dare to seek things so true
But rather to stare at the orange
Until it turned green and then a lighter blue.