If I could paint the sky,
I wouldn’t stop at blue.
Instead, I would use all the colors
that remind me of you.
Yellow for the sunshine
that caressed our face,
and indigo and violet
for the flowers at our place.
Oranges for the color
of the burning summer sun
and the harshness of the streetlights
where two strangers had begun.
Yet I would skip the greens,
and the vivid blues and whites,
for those only remind me
of the many sleepless nights.
Brown would be forgotten,
And buried with the gray,
the color of the sky
on that cold November day.
If I could paint the sky,
I would paint it every morning
and let the sunset colors
brighten up the seeds of mourning.
