When you cut me I bleed
Just the same as you
I still dream in technicolor
Or does that not come through?

And when you hurt, I hurt
And when you cry I cry
And in the darkest hours
My soul still seeks the light

Longing for the world I knew
When I thought we were real
Searching for artificial touch
And learning how to heal

An autumn colder than December
Of fallen leaves and frigid hearts
Of praying for the golden sun
And considering my faults

Do I really exist to you?
Can you drink from this wine?
Or am I just a phantom voice
On this end of the line?


Published by: Ionia Froment

Blogger, reviewer, theology/philosophy major. I'm a mother and a writer and a supporter of free speech and freedom in general. My favourite author is Albert Camus, and I listen to a bit of everything. I've been too busy (LAZY) to blog in the last few years, but I'm giving it another shot.

Categories PoetryTags, , 58 Comments

58 thoughts on “Technicolor”

  1. Hints of a long distance relationship where emotion is real by one who ponders if it is real by the other. I like the character of this piece, lonely, but not truly so.


  2. Your poetry is so good. I am sure you’re not a phantom voice and I would imagine that hearing your voice provides warmth from this Autumn chill. You are special, don’t forget that, I know I haven’t.


  3. Love it Ionia, and the photo is stunning too. ”Longing for the world I knew,
    When I thought we were real” – very moving:-) Sooooo, when are you going to put all these beautiful poems you write into some kind of collection?!


  4. Really liked this. Reminded me of a time when I was forced to be away from a loved one. All their hurts became intolerable and the only vehicle for comfort was a phone that seemed so cold and inadequate at times. Glad those days are past for me and hope you don’t have to face them. Beautiful verse which did what you designed it to do. It touched those memories.


  5. Great poem Ionia, I’m jealous though, you get to dream in technicolor while I don’t dream very often, at least dreams that I remember. Hell I would take them in black and white if I could at this point. πŸ™‚


      1. Your poem made me stop and think about it and I can’t remember the last time I had a dream I can remember. It has been a really long time. I find that odd, but there really isn’t anything I can do about it. πŸ™‚


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