We have an obsession
The art of expression
How can we encompass
This enigmatic possession?
Our souls are impossible
To grasp and to hold
Both young and the old
Could we be so bold
To attempt to define
An imperceptible line?
The colors they see
Are different than mine.
We can turn away
Or we can choose
To hear the cries
Instead, recognize
The hues of the skies
A new way to rise.
No matter what
Before us lies
Our biggest downfall
Is the reflection
In our eyes.
The palette that makes us
Someday, forsakes us
Beauty is fleeting
Yet truth, superseding
The thing we know most
Is the feeling of needing
The light, the warmth
The comfort of sight
But only in darkness
Will we see the light.
About the Creator
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The Devil's Triangle
The sails ruffled in the breeze as we cruised along. The Sea Breeze was a mid-size catamaran that sailed out of Royal Naval Dockyard in Bermuda. We had booked this trip weeks in advance and were now looking at our Captain, Spike and two boat hands. Paddy and Wilson seemed like nice guys, joking around with the passengers and telling us some stories about Bermuda that only locals would know. Their island accents sounded almost British but they were pleasant to listen to.
By Barbara Gode Wilesa day ago in Fiction
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