Poems, poets, poetry, writing, poetry challenges
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i made one as a child of ten
with tinted blues and mellow greens
heartfelt reds
and everytime i twisted it there would be
a miniature crash; a universe of patterns
unturning and renewing
morphing into new creatures
of coloured fragility.
i am a wheel of colours and patterns
that has a hundred thousand
counterfeit faces
when i need a change i urge
a miniature crash; flesh and blood churns
i rip off my face
wear a new one
a secret chameleon.
Sometimes we get to the point where we no longer realize that we’re changing out our masks. This is the perfect example of how we do it. Well told.
As with the above comment ~ such an intriguing write…!
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