Poems about white

It is said
Are the measures
Gradations of fib...
More white more truth
More black is worse...
With such entangling
Where is found
Purest lies and truth... ?
Then further
Does truth birth lies
And lies the truth... ?

Are such words
To each
A mirror... ?

When tears stain the threads of
Of your childhood blanket
When the promise dies
And withering hyde binds you

When your lifeline snaps
And you run away
When you can't hide the pain

When its flowing through your veins
Like ice melting off an arctic cage
Trapped for ages you lay
In the ditch by the road back
From the inferno

When you resolve to ashes
Then the fates draw your matches
When the wind blows them through
And nothing is left to cradle a flame-

When there isn't a scrap left to mend
And you are buried in your own skin
When all that's left is night

What's been lost cries out of sight.

The brisk air flows
Through my window and I realize
I was deep in thought of you again
My fan is turning
But still my window brings a much cooler air
Like the kind you brought
The night you broke
My heart
And left your imprint on my bed.
I don't blame you,
After all, it was I who loved too much
Too soon
No one has ever showed me
Affection so when you were here
It was you
Who kept my fan turning

Are any of you ever lonely?
Typing everything you're feeling to end the pain?
The most humane wish there is, no pain
I imagine, no I know, loneliness to be a white maze
Everywhere you go it's white
And you're the only black dot on the map
People turn to white, cars turn into a white, everyone around you
Even words turn to white
Your thoughts leave you as well and become the light that shines on the maze
It's so loud with silence it's deafening
The quiet is too damn loud
Alone with everywhere to go

There was a young lady in white,
Who looked out at the depths of the night;
But the birds of the air,
Filled her heart with despair,
And oppressed that young lady in white.

I live behind a white picket fence
In the world of a wealthy child
I have everything I could want
Except the chance, or choice, to be wild
I live in a perfect brick house
With cobblestone drive and manicured lawn
I live in the perfect world
But I dream of what is beyond
My perfect white picket fence

I dreamt of an orchard where the autumn leaves fall,
And the breeze that carries them away.
Where out ghosts run wild, fed to be free,
Hand in hand in the ocean's spray.

Dreaming of the day we vanish with no trace;
The sun swells the desiccated grass,
And the smell of that fresh ocean's air
Exhalts towards freedom at last.

Fearing the notion of inevitability;
The knowledge of having to wake up.
Promise me that: if we do what we choose,
Then we will choose to never give up,

On our disregard, as we prance through the yard.
Through the abruption my words become clear,
That our subservient minds become fundamental,
And that Utopia is all up in here.

Now the only thing I hear from you

Is *silence