Okay, now DO NOT under any circumstances throw dead tomatoes at me. I won't appreciate it. I'm not a poet, but neither am I motivated enough to write a whole freaking story. Sorry, Mist. Anyway, here's a poem-diddly. Like or leave.
An endless sheet of sky is dotted with birds and laced with wispy clouds. It watches us from above, yet it doesn't look down on us, and our mistakes.
Inequality is sometimes for the best. We dare not look at the sun for too long a while, or our weak eyes will burn, yet the sun is always glaring or smiling down on us, beating down on us or comforting us with its warmth, when no human can.
The colour of love, blood, and burning. Is it merely coincidental that love shares a colour with pain?
Green means two things to me; Jealousy, and nature. If you think about it, the two could be the same thing.
Clouds. Marshmallows. Snow. Vanilla ice cream.
Darkness. Shadows. Spiders.
The fur of a wolf.
The center of the eye.
How can we interpret the world around us without colours? How can we explain each other without colours? How can we discover ourselves without colours? At the core of our souls, we can find all of these colours, and colours that we didn't even know existed. What makes us unique is which colours we decide to make prominent.
Don't blame me, I didn't create this font.