Quiet

[honesttoblog]

Quiet

 

Owned by an ongoing world where

Childhood nightmares are all the fashion,

Memories are forcefully stumbled upon,

And wrists are marked as a cure.

Life seems to stop short.

It ceases to have point,

And prevents any meaningful colours seeping in,

Till unknowingly one slyly slips its way through.

 

Purple.

 

An undiscovered, uncared about shade

That was sloppily thrown aside in a pallet of the forgotten,

Turned up out of the hue;

Arrived by car on an unsuspecting day.

 

It breathed new value into others,

So red reflected beautifully in the sun,

Rather than off serrated, stained scissors.

It created a sense of sanctuary,

So there was protection from society,

Rather than the constant, callous callings.

Tears created are prevented;

Mood swings stopped at bay.

Cocooned in secure insanity;

Wrapped in skin on skin heat.

 

An untainted amount of trust is born,

And a surreal silence is formed,

Together creating a reaction of bliss.

A feeling only alive because,

In the end,

The world is quiet here.