Blue Poem by Hunter James

Our hearts are not red, but a warm maroon
Though don't you ever wonder what is really true?
Is the grass always green, or only when you notice it?
Are you really sick, or do you just like to boast it?
Do you really believe I love you, or do you only presume it?
Do you really love me, or do you just want to counter it?
You heard it through radio stations,
Through Sunday shows,
through the whites of the winter snow
That love is in fact pure.
You heard it through the whispers of the park,
the helplessness of the lure,
through the secrets of the dark.
That love is in fact true.
Love is not golden but in fact a vivid yellow.
You assume that the sun is sun and sun is good,
(Sun is a mere excuse to avoid the ever looming presumption that one day we will part)
You assume that warmth is warmth and the sky is blue
(The sky is just a pool of orange juice placed for our convenience as the sun is un dark)
You assume that I am simply me and you are always you.
Though,
I am only me because you are you, and you are only you because the sky remains blue.