Am I Really This Melancholy? - [Sharon]

Okay, so I sit down to write something. Something EXCITING. Something RIVETING. Something that will cause tides to shift, and animals to give birth....And then....Huh.

Not much going in the brain today. Not really happening.

So I decide to pull out some poetry. Some good old reliable pencil scratches from days of yore. And again....Huh.

Am I REALLY this melancholy? Almost every poem I found is a veritable treasure trove of dark images and angst ridden yelps. Wow. As a collective work, my little book of poetry reads like something Edgar Allen Poe's illegitimate (and mildly retarded) second cousin would've written. So maybe I shouldn't share it with you all at once. But then again........naw.

I'll spare you for now. I'll plunk down one that's a wee bit more soft and plushy. I'll save the screams for later.

Colours colours
climbing so swiftly.
I lie in a pool made of colours
and light.
I swim in a river of shadows
and hues
made of purity, shallow,
and stars in the night.

Follow me swiftly
for I know where my footfalls
are leading to colours
of lavender cold.

Misty grey lochs
in the night, in the soul.
Muted peace sighing
impetuous, bold.

Moonlit blue gardens
so pale and so quiet
Are showing me colours
my heart never knew.