Am I trying to show anger, or merely my fear,
Of losing a feeling that I hold now so dear?
Friendships of late become much harder to bear,
When I cannot interpret the colors they wear:
The red flame of passion, the deepest of love,
Or white and frail tenderness of a small dove?
Perhaps the green vibrancy of a strong mind,
Or purple intellect to share in the grind?
Maybe the blue will explain my sad way,
But orange will not care to come brighten my day.
Fear I now always the prospect of black?
And hold onto violet for eternity and back?
The storm of my life is not what would seem,
But I will find someday the girl in my dream.
And should I then miss that one chance yet again,
I know that I deserve a life's loneliness then!
The God that I fear would not ensure my wait,
If never or always were not much better than late.
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