Poetry: The Norm In Abnormal.

Colors of us do not make good rainbows,
we may stretch so hard, and our hearts won’t just bow.
Flowers tell stories, but what is yours?
We may go up but the ground has its force.
If life goes cold on you, the morning has its sun
If a smile becomes a frown, don’t let anger burn.
We may spice up the page when our tales are told.
In the market of words, will any of yours be sold?

Ruddapoet