It starts with white
words that see no value,
but slowly black
comes in and splatter
the poetry into being.

The burning light
flickers against white
walls of my life.
There is no color
that can compare to
the blending of
heartache.

I can only assume
it would be a burning
crimson that mixes
with the passion of
youth and age that
can become bitter.

The late night flight
flutters me to distant lands,
and slowly I can see
that my mind would die
in this world.

And there will only be
white that curses my soul.
No more black,
and no more crimson.

Only white.

12/20/2008

Posted on 12/21/2008
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin