I'd like to make videos, or even just audio clips, of me speaking poetry. This is one of them. I struggled with the format when typing it up; there's no comparison between reading this and hearing it. They are almost different poems, at least in my mind.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Why are there contaminated rainbows? Black, grey, white are not colours, shades that don't belong in these spectrums. So why are there streaks of black? The rain can't wash them away – why are there streaks of blood running down the arcs, dripping on my face, held up to behold the colours which fade and die under their disease which will not be cured by the warmth or the sun, arriving now and the colours appear in all their glory and the black grows in like a rotting mold bleeding dark red leaks onto our heads, innocently searching for hope that the dark skies bring us, now from lands far away, far from out land of ice and snow, slowly thawing out the traditions of our kind of ideas, and yet the colours which bring salvation to our minds bleed into our eyes instead, blinding us to our principals and values and recreating infinite challenges because there aren't any easy solutions left after all.
Posted by Marina at 3:53 p.m.