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The color yellow is burned into my mind
I hate that color.
Not pale, or bright, or electric in shade and tone
Instead, just dull gold.
Not shining, or vivid, lustrous, and clean
Simply base and boring.
The color yellow is stained upon my fingertips
Sticky and sweet and decayed.
Not fresh, not free, not beautiful and unique
Rather old, and dying.
Not mine, not yours, not even theirs, nor ours
It just is, was, will be.
The color yellow is branded across my soul
Singed deep where I can't see.
I hear it in your voice, words, breath
Not from me, but of me.
I feel it in your bones, skin, flesh
Not with me, but for me.
I hate that color.

© 2010
Posted in Poetry
by TabulaRasa


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