Wednesday, August 08, 2007

confession

talking became like butterfly wings
and the colors got written down

The words were bricks
mortared into place
some walls shined with light

others were dull
he shared them with people
and tried to understand
the mystery of taste

he hid behind the walls
and examined himself
sometimes he just tried to hide

safety is color until you paint
words until you write

6 comments:

Ruela said...

Pretty chromatic words...

terrymcdermott said...

I do love the wroding in this poem. I likes how use brick and color to describe words.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Hey thanks Ruela! I thought you might see something here. I thought about you when I got the idea to write it.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks Terry! As writers, words are our tools and conversly, as this poem tries to hint at. Thanks for the great comment, my friend.

aurora said...

Good write, with the last two lines the most intriguing of all!

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks Aurora! Glad you could get some time from your busy schedule to do visiting. Thanks for that great comment. Good luck with the new Magnapoets!