It started young
Started with my lungs
The vocal quality, that hazardous calamity
MY VOICE
Large and buoyant fierce and annoyant
Through the verdurous; I can’t say it wasn’t curious.
Light an yellow will question a fellow. While deep and green meant this could turn mean.
Through thick and thin, and all over agin my color shaded my life: colored my strife.
Green, as they say, is envious: snake like; while I believe it beloved, rare, and berift of spite.
See it grow, see it glow.
Bloom and shroom without condensing broom.
Being swept affront or aft would leave anyone considerably daft
However, forever, my voice rang true. Brought about by grief, despair, and the feeling of blue.
Collard the color, people thought how dare you.
So I stand: an oak.
Foliage verdant emerald, ears pricked for the herald.Day after day, cloying insanity reigns.
Yet here I stand, solid oak in this land.
Singular against the mob.Unwilling to shut my gob.
Blaring before the cloister!Ready to crack this oyster.
Green I am
Verdant I be
Until the world can see it’s not jealousy but growth in the seed.
Green I am
Verdant I be
Fueling justice drowning beneath a hateful sea.
About the Creator
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Cordelia
Binter never understood inlanders, who would want to hoof it hither and tither over hill and dale when one could float? Float, like a leaf on the wind. Float, as if through time and space. Float, as she was now, the luke-warm waves caressing her voluptuous form.
By Crissy Ferguson 5 years ago in Wander
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