What he is is afraid
of the echoes in his head
Not of others but of Red
Like the sun without shade
What he is is a silence
Awaiting perfection on a stage
Behind Red curtains, not a page
So give some time for him to break
What he is is a vein
Neither Red, nor too plain
Pace within soft and faint
Like the patter of the rain
What he is is a Red
Not the stop kind of red,
Simply one that never fades
'Till someone gets his charade.
YOU ARE READING
Storms and Other Short Poems
Poetryᴀ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴘᴏᴇᴍs ᴀs ᴘᴇʀᴇɴɴɪᴀʟ ʀᴇғʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜᴛʜ Storms are temporary. They come and go, but when they hit us, we may not be prepared. These poems may seem bleak and dark at first but as you read along, you'll realise that all we have to do t...
