Between the Hue of Red Forgotten...

I ache for the eye of the sunset,

when I am seen and I can dream,

between the hue of red forgotten

and the yellow of an August morning.

When was my time decided?

When had fate told me to quiet

and left me to only dream

of the yellow of an August morning?

Give me the assurance of a concrete dream,

where rebar are the scars of my sleep

and the confines where I can believe...

In the yellow of an August morning.

I ache to be known and seen,

by a sunset that would stand to redeem,

the songs I sung, and I confide

to the yellow of an August morning.

I keep coming back for more,

to the sight of a blue moon mourning,

from the cold steel in which I reside,

as I gaze at an August morning.

    I wrote Hue of Red Forgotten to describe my own feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. I have lived all my life being told that I have "great potential", even now, people believe that one day I will achieve great things. The only problem is that "great potential" is a soft word away from being completely worthless. Having potential inherently means that you are currently nothing, it is the bottom of a barrel that may or may not eventually be filled.

    I wrote Hue of Red Forgotten with reference to sunsets and mornings as equal dichotomies. Sunset is meant to represent the potential hope or dread of night. The sunset is beautiful and vibrant, but the night can be peaceful or dreadful. It is my hope that the nights that I experience can one day be felt as peace and assurance in what I have accomplished, rather than in dread of what is to come. The August morning is a positive representation of a future within my grasp, something that I can always see and believe in. I represent the achievement of my potential and the feeling of the August morning through the imagery of concrete and rebar, something real, strong, and reliable. I can only hope to eventually reach that distant August morning through the sacrifice of my potential for the prison of reality, envisioned as concrete walls and rebar windows. I hope that the sacrifice of my potential will yield me that peace, even at the cost of my freedom. The blue moon is the only antithesis to these ideals, it is a representation of my own doubt. What if, after I have achieved everything I have hoped for, I still find myself feeling worthless and inadequate? What if I find myself in a prison of my own devices with no way out, and I still have nothing to show for it?

I guess I won't know my regrets, until I sacrifice myself for the hope of more.