Photo by Luca Bravo on Unsplash
The Bluest Eye
My bluest eye that is without the blue
But the blue within to make up the two
Continues to reach its color by blue
Without any division from the two,
And weeps me by my best blues without heart
And satisfied by the blue ends apart
Since one blue is for the season’s greeting
While one is sadness upon the meeting.
I’m surprised I’m not blue by the eye
From all the blues I made tear to pass bye,
But maybe the day will make the blue moon
And carry on the blues by its wish soon,
And make mockery to cover me blue
That I seem escape by blues anew.
The Blue Worker
The blue worker, without his collars up,
Employs himself to have his dollars up
By this trend that made its way a new age
In his humble abode by his own sage.
But though this trend causes independence,
He finds himself in a blue dependence
That depends himself to make blues by his blues
Without any array of heart to choose:
For his ears discern no words for his work,
But allows he the blues of him to lurk;
And without faith, he pleases god of himself
That concerns with making blues for his shelf,
And in this blue exchange, he receives blues
And blue emotion that are without few.