Pale lives seen as spinning out of control,
an orb of tangerine twirling tempest thoughts
never stopping, unable to focus on a given view,
appearing as a hemorrhaging scarlet heart
slowly profusely pouring out
lavender passions and pulse.
But within the chaos
lies a dreamer,
wearing hope's tattered ashen gown,
a stumbling soul turned angst's amber ballerina,
dancing upon midnight's clouds,
filled with smothering dark light
and simmering power from percolating crimson ire,
unable to stop the gush of ruby rage,
nor flow in melancholy's violet vinegar.
It all hurls through the turquoise space of day,
as an emerald comet of pain
streaking towards sorrow's scarlet abyss
waiting for compassion's
alabaster telescope
to capture the silver flame
until the wounds can heal
in the hands of love's golden astronomer.
Honorable mention
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