Posted in Pieces of Poetry

Black

I am not red.

Red is the color of the shirts people wear on Valentine’s Day, to celebrate

I am far from being in love.

I am not red.

Red is the flower, that makes a girl blush

or a balloon that makes her want to dance to the tune of an upbeat, frenzied song.

But I couldn’t even come close to a petal, not even a thorn.

Red is the color of the arrow pointing to the nearest exit

but I have no chance to escape.

Red is courage

but I am just a winged creature inside an urn of mortification.

I am not red. I am buried in the murk. Not red.

This is the revised version of the short poem ‘Not Red.’

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Author:

Senior High School Teacher from the Philippines.

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