Poems by Lyonrah

A friend warned me once,
told me to steer clear
that all it gives is pain,
but that’s not how I see it,
the hue can change.

It would be a lie
to say it didn’t feel like I was wilted and dry,
sitting alone wounded, exhausted, spent, 
cursing the sun lit contagion.
But to me,
a youngster with his head 
full of yellow and orange dreams,
the colors tend to whisper breathlessly,
shift and shimmer
from translucent to opaque,
sometimes coming 
as a glossy sheen.

Now though it seems
to be
not the color of dark mystery
but the soft light edge of a dawn,
where it stands above a spread
of complimentaries.

Out of sight, a memory lingering, 
a fire light I saw for the first time 
when I couldn’t distinguish 
between dreams and reality.

Poems by Lyonrah

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