Veil (an acrostic poem)

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Viewing life through a gauzy sheet of emotions

Everything was fuzzy and slightly off color

It made things less scary and more comfy

Living that way also meant never really knowing what was real

Kick (an acrostic poem)

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Keeping his mouth’s pain level in mind, he put more hot sauce on the chicken

Its deep red color promising pleasure mixed with the pain

Cramming a huge bite into his mouth, he felt his hair begin to seat

Knowing his stomach would be further wrecked with the moonshine chaser that followed.

Paint (an acrostic poem)

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Putting color onto the canvas brought a smile to his face and chase away his frustrations

As the white disappeared behind his assured strokes, his happiness grew

It was cathartic to brush in his happy little trees standing tall

Nothing could ruin his mood now

This is where all his mistakes were opportunities

Sad (an acrostic poem)

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Suddenly the color leached from the world around him

And nothing seemed to make sense

Depression is a bitch

*Not autobiographical

Color (an acrostic poem)

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Couldn’t tell the difference between red and blue

Or blue and green for that matter

Looking at everything in grayscale made paint choices easier

Only paying attention to lights and darks

Reaching for his brush he channeled his inner M. C. Escher

Tint (an acrostic poem)

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The color never seemed to matter to Jeff

If you wanted to make it fluorescent orange and lime green, he was cool with it

Nothing seemed to phase the man

That’s when I figured out the dude was extremely color blind

Rock (an acrostic poem)

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Reaching down for a nice hefty stone

Old cloud gray in color, it was smooth and rounded

Caressing it fondly, he rejoined the mob

Knowing he was without sin, he threw first

Paint (an acrostic poem)

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Picking the right color is so important to create the correct atmosphere

A shade too dark and it puts people in a somber mood

If its too light they will feel not grounded in the space

Now if you go for a wild color, well that just causes people to go insane

That’s why the world believes in beige, and why I avoid it like the plague.

Meadow ( an acrostic poem)

 

Meandering through the tall grass

Enjoying the soft sunlight trickling from the cloud speckled sky

All while admiring the punches of flowery color

Dotting the serene landscape

Overhead hawks played among the updrafts

Winding down a perfect day

 

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Glare (an acrostic poem)

 

Gazing into the bright light

Left him feeling quite monotone

As all the color left his supersaturated world

Revealing very little detail of what was around him

Everything just seemed more of the same

 

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