Blue
Poem #104
Like a sky of lost desires, reaching out through light-years wide, we stretch our hands and keep on moving till our ashes drift away. Ice that straightens us through pain pushes fury back — one drop, while the yard we once called home turns into a knife-lit underworld. Eyes, fixed amulets in flesh, keep our thoughts from being too real. Denim promised we’d be free, weak as we were, yet it ended in a horror made of rules hanging on forgotten racks. Water, clear, but never simple I heard since I give soft footsteps to becoming silence itself. Weigh your words in shards of sapphire; we all pay in buried minerals, each inventing what has worth. Jazz, my love, jazz, let hughes sway you deep in the truest false of beauty.
<3
What stayed with me after reading this poem is how “blue” feels less like a color and more like a mood you fall into without noticing. The images feel like memories that are both sharp and distant, as if the speaker is trying to touch something that keeps slipping away. That line about the yard turning into an underworld really hit me — it feels like the moment when a familiar place suddenly stops being safe. The denim image carries this quiet hope that never quite becomes real. And then the shift into water softens everything, like the poem is finally letting itself breathe. I love the idea of weighing words in “shards of sapphire”; it feels true that meaning always comes with a cost. The ending with jazz feels like a small refuge, a place where beauty survives even when everything else feels heavy. The whole poem lingers in a slow, aching way — very human, very real.