The colour of love
I know not
But the blood stains of heartbreak
Over the canvas of my life
Buries me in heartache
The colour of love
I see not
But the glumness of despair
Leaves me bare
and drowning with no air
The colour of love
I long for
But the kisses and caresses
of misfortune
has me woefully longing for ruin
The colour of love
wants me not
For it sees in me a well of bleakness
Dug here by a world of darkness
The colour of love?
My colour of love?
There is no colour in love
Crazy is what some know me as, sad and depressed is what my work calls me, reliable, fierce, unforgiving, loyal are words that have been used to describe me. I am indeed all of these things when it suits me but much more am I. Roberta Ajiri Orioma was born out of the beautiful irony that is life and like so many, I lost my voice before I found it. So from my pen, flows pain, joy, love and heartbreak. The source of my power, my words, with which I captivate and lose you just to find you. What’s my secret? what emboldens me so? The truth that hate me or love me, you can never take away my words, you can never touch my power.
Connect with Roberta Orioma:
Facebook: Roberta Orioma
Instagram: @robertaorioma
Twitter: @everberta
Great poem, I love it
I love the poem, very interesting. Keep it up.