Chandelier

Dead Poets Live Prompt Technicolor

Anna Rozwadowska
May 18 · 2 min read
Françoise Nielly

“This is the land the sunset washes, these are the banks of the Yellow Sea” — Emily Dickinson


Wavelength of indigo sky stretched in mind’s eye; starry night
with forbidden chairs, slight hues of desperation in golden stars,
moon reveals crescents of our face, it is in this light that life begins,
create life, end life, begin with the chandelier of morning,
fear or welcome; one’s response is technicolor.

Often disguised is the hue of one’s persona, the aura of inclination,
colour unseen to the untrained eye, your blank stare tells me everything,
I judge not, for I understand you to light up in crimson when defensive,
no need for defense, yet crimson suits your undulation.

Neutral is the underneath, a base for bewitching eyes to hues,
yet, it holds the atmospheric conundrums as a permanent glue,
once it understands its place its pace; perhaps slower than the jungle,
pops to the forefront in emerald and jade, that is what we crave,
creative force brings color to imagination,
runs wild in fields where poppies grown and the daisy,
faint but luminescent, speaks softly, whispers to the poet;
here is what I shall say.


One is not to judge the bejeweled, technicolor coats of pride,
technicolor coats of Jesus, technicolor coats of bride, holi seasoned,
if but black shall reappear do not wish it away; black is the unity,
white the prism, both central to spinning of the sun,
black-white conundrum, colors and characters in their own stories,
don’t ignore what binds us together, characters in their stories,
used and denied, tainted and wild, only eyes of truth can behold,
their glory; magical and unsung.

You cannot speak of this earth without color, not persons without color,
nor pride without color, nor emotion without color, nor whispers without color,
nor creative without color, nor elation without color,
nor gruesome acts; kindness without color,
you are made of color,
do not speak of the world without color,
technicolor; our innate world.



Dead Poets Live

Rilke, Whitman, Angelou, Clifton — inspiration and prompts

Anna Rozwadowska

Written by

Top Writer in Poetry, editor of Literally Literary. I am a writer, photographer, psychic, medium, and spiritual guide.I have an M.A. in Environmental Sociology.

Dead Poets Live

Rilke, Whitman, Angelou, Clifton — inspiration and prompts