Red

Red

What becomes

Of the color red?

A fiery passion,

No one can contain.

Does it yearn to be

Something it’s not?

A purplish hue

Or a yellowy hot?

Does it desire to be green?

As the wind kissed fields,

In the months of spring?

Or transition,

To an aqua marine.

The teal

Of the ocean’s pristine?

Jet black at night,

Not wanting to be seen.

Or does it simply fade?

Like night into day.

Losing its luster,

Marching endlessly,

Towards dull grey?

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J.a. Wine

The Time

“Excuse me sir,

Do you have the time?”

I asked hoping he knew, and

If he did, he’d be the first.

He glanced at his watch

Gold.

So fancy and new,

And proclaimed,

“Why yes,

It’s ten past noon”

With an arrogant grin;

A cocky smile

He tips his hat,

All the while

Never realizing

The clock hands were

Frozen on his dial.

Without protest,

I thank him,

I politely play along.

For how could I

Correct him

If mine too,

Was wrong?