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Orange Purple Red Orange Purple Red Purple Purple Purple Red
Contributed by
exodus
on
Sunday, 29th January 2006 @ 11:19:18 PM in AEST
Topic:
psychoticpoems
|
The air turns orange, from purple and then to red.
The rhythm rocks my visage, with a vision of lust stuck to in my head.
There was a crow with a purpose,
but what's the purpose?
Am I destined to comprehend with a hand over my eyes?
There must be a purpose to all of this.
For it seems the ugly one always dies.
For if you chose not a crow,
What could you choose?
Are there methods that stand for something real?
I would choose a peacock.
Exploding with all the colors you can see and taste and feel.
I would pluck all his pretty feathers.
And what could I, what should I do?
Can I kill a beautiful creature with colors that hold
A variety of values,
But none that hold importance or any that could act so bold.
For there was no red and orange.
Can purple really stand alone?
My master didn't think so, so he plucked the peacock's pretty head.
He created beauty,
And now the pretty peacock was pretty dead.
Copyright ©
exodus
... [
2006-01-29 23:19:18]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Orange Purple Red Orange Purple Red Purple Purple Purple Red
(User Rating: 1 )
by Thoren on
Tuesday, 31st January 2006 @ 09:14:57 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
A haiku, for you, about your poem:
Exploding poultry,
Turning the sky red, briefly,
Bloody rain,... awesome.
Sweet Poem! |
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