When I am blue, I colour your hue
We dance in emotion, I get lost in you.
I head to the forest, into the great depths of green
Healing happens here, no need to be seen.
And it reminds me..
That blue is not desolate, lonely and few
But rather it's peaceful, sacred and true.
Happiness beams like the rays of the sun
Yellow and confident, uplifting and fun.
Here I'm reminded of all that's around
Where I once thought I lacked, now can be found.
Creation and joy, where a sorrow song lays
A golden star dropped, filled with wisdom and praise.
And it reminds me..
In orange there is joy, solid and free
In every hue I will dance, play, sing and just, be.
Surrendering to Earth, power and strength lie in life's blood
Dynamic, energetic, rooted amongst the flood.
Steady and ready, red base chakra power
Withstanding the storms, embracing the shower.
But indigo, is where I go, when I need to be still
For here is where I find my Self, my source, my will.
A see'er, connected, inspired and true
In the deep depths of purple, I seek only You.
The grace and the wisdom, the stillness and light
The healing, the love, divinity and sight.
My soul is at home here, inspired and true
Forever, Violet, I come home to you.
About the Creator
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A Little Bit Of God
January 2026 I thought I’d spend the night in neon lights on grainy film but my brother is telling me how an eternity of hell is caused by prevalent peace, and who am I to disrupt such a thing? So I found myself in the same skin with the same sights, wondering whether or not I am one of those– do I feel peace? Do I expect more when it is gone? It being everything. We’re running out of time but the car is belching up something strange and we’ve got God in between our eyes nodding along to every apology and plea spoken for our friends and loved ones– they don’t know any better, they’ll come around eventually. He’s telling me about barbed wire guides around lives and ties and wives and lies and, look, the snow is starting to fall so I guess we better hang up soon. But it’s been too long. We’re building fields of skills and realms of distrust and these moments are only seen now, can no longer be read as words, only swept with eyes upon oil pastels or smudged charcoal. It’s a painting of an evening, like Daniel’s soles in Edgar Degas’ mind, but if anything is just it’s the lack of unrest in skin like His and lives like this– okay, so maybe five hours on the phone is a lot if you have a job and you’re trying to cook dinner, but only one of us falls into that gorge and only one of us believes in what lies beneath it. My brother tells me things that sit in my spirit like half an ounce of prospect and a squeeze of bourn, how he tells God to let me in: despite my sins, despite all the moons in between these calls, despite the burning in both of our throats. I do feel peace here. I also feel that my peace is a subpar window job, a pinky’s strength avoiding blizzards inside the bedsheets. I’d like to spend more nights like this, with contrasting disaster living between a speakerphone, and God finding some space in between.
By Olivia Dodgea day ago in Poets
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