Poetry

I’d Choose Black

With the new year well underway, I’ve been walking down memory lane and looking at some old poems I wrote waaaay back in the day. (Like, high school.) Several of the ones I’ve posted the last few weeks have been from teenage Sarah. (Scary thought.) But this one… looking back over it…. I don’t think I would have been considered “goth” in high school, but I must have been having a particularly “gothy” day when I wrote it. Still, I remember being proud of it at the time, and I can’t help but think about how life changes as time passes by. In high school, I might have “chosen black,” but nowadays, my favorite color orange–the brighter, the better.

They say Picasso went through blue,

And I suppose this must be true;

But if an artist picks a shade

To echo what his heart does say,

Then the color I’d select

Would be the deepest, darkest black.

Black came to me not long ago,

Draped in a long, billowing cloak.

He told me what I’d ought to be,

And whispered that he’d set me free.

But I released his grip so fast

And disagreed with his darkness.

But he just smiled–it was so sweet–

And said that we were meant to meet,

And that looks often form a ruse,

But he’d not push; he’d let me choose.

He confessed that Black was twisted,

But within him were colors vivid.

I quirked an eyebrow, raised my eyes,

But he just laughed and passed me by

To sit upon my bed and smirk,

“Come, listen now, for you have work.”

I didn’t understand the phrase;

He merely smiled, eyes ablaze.

“Let me explain,” he said at last.

“There are two choices, two roads, to paths

In every part of life, you see.

The same is true when you see me.”

My stare the same, I shook my head;

A frustrated sigh, and then he said:

“The color Red can mean two things–

Both joy and anger it may bring.

There is the red that burns the flame–

Destroys what was and crumbles names.

And yet, Red is also love–the strongest pulse

Around which the whole world revolves.”

His breath was steady, his form was bent;

And on, and on, and on he went

As I approached, my heartbeat steady.

Yet, still he knew I wasn’t ready.

But he didn’t seem the least perturbed

That I was still so unassured.

“Look into my eyes,” he sighed.

“And tell me who you see inside.

It’s true I’m like the color Red–

I bring two thoughts, both joy and dread.

Look into my soul; do you see

The darkness you’d expect of me?

“Am I the blackhole, swallowing space?

The shadow spread upon a face?

The mourning rags of Death passed by?

The thundering omen in the sky?

Do I hide the mystery–

Keep the world from what they’d see?

“No, I believe that I’m the opposite;

I strengthen bonds; I don’t forget.

Look into my eyes once more–

Can’t you see what you were born?

Take a look, and please, just think–

Aren’t I the color of darkest ink?”

Black came to me not long ago,

Searching for someone who would know

That you don’t need the color gray

To see the shades in every day.

So let Picasso keep his blue,

For my color’s far more true.

Copyright Sarah Davidson 2021

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s