Chapter 17: The Color Wheel

The Color Wheel
a wistful poem
by me

Trapped in the painting
The girl looks out
Did a man put her there?
Or did she let her wandering mind
So full of dangerous ideas
Draw her into the color wheel?

She cries for help
But silently, for
Colors stifle her bell-like voice
She chokes on shades of pink and blue
Who is this child
Whose life has been tainted by the color wheel?

But she is no child
For a child could have found a way out
A child could have woven a tapestry
From the myriad of colors
Swimming around him
No, she is no child.

Help me, she whispers
Drowning in magenta rivulets
Help me swim ashore
Back to the place of my birth
To the world of gray real
Help me.

But there is no help for her
She is a victim
Like so many perfect beauties
She is lost
Forever trapped in the painting
A victim of the color wheel.

Chapter 18: Pieces in the Snow

Pieces in the Snow
a contemplative poem
by me

Sometimes I wonder what becomes of us
Of the thoughts and feelings we leave behind
While we walk down the street
Towards the gathering snow.

Will someone remember them?
Do they fall into the ground
Make impressions, like leaves
In the soil of our lives?

Or do they remain shadows,
Phantoms of mist and shade
Flitting along like half-dead sprites
Trails of unshed tears and sighs

And when we finally collapse
Upon reaching the land of eternal snow
Do we rest in peace?
Or are we forever haunted
By the shadowy thoughts and feelings
We've long left behind.