Blue

you see my mother was a blue light
cold and warm all at once

if I could paint the mind or tint thoughts,
would a library be a rainbow and why is
the bar that I wander into so sadly
monochromatic and me hungry to be
overwhelmed by the touch of color

waiting, burning quietly red and
sometimes growing just a shade
beyond dark

you see it was this feeling, this feeling
that came every day, a feeling that...I
felt every day, the feeling that surrounds

ice

the feeling that was only a suggestion in a young boy that
happened every day until...until it became the part...the part
in a man that surrounds

ice

that part has brought me to this strange place, perched on the
edge of a forgotten star of white ice, I climb into my dark and
lonely room, I stand at the clear window and see everything
else...

I know the kind of man I am...I have become the man who
fell in love with
everything else
the sweet taste of wine
mixed in blood
heated tones
staring eyes
the art of smooth arms
rosewater and legs
the music world
inside a woman's soul

I am the artist captured by the hues of expressed passion
in the picture, trapped so wonderfully by freedom

but of course my mother was a blue light...

(c)Patrick Carr

published in Skipping Stones Vol VI

Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA