Poem: Red and Blue


"Red and Blue" by Michael E. Peterson Jr.


Red and blue

These two

Color the lines

Of promised poetic genius

Or act on imaginary stages

Of potentially poetic justice.

Two sides of the same

Coined phrases

That everybody is used to.

A reality that really is only real

In romantic introductions

Of little substance, like:

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue,"

But if you take moment to think

Before you react

You would detect

What seems a beautiful fact

In fact isn't true.

But it is true that

Red and blue

Color so much of our lives

Don't they?

Ironically, they are

Hardly ever apart

Except in our own

Minds eye

Yet I long to see

Them mix well

Like primary colors

Paint the town

Paint these streets

Paint the walls of my mind

Built by the bricks

Of sinful imaginations

Of historical divisions

Of hate-filled segregation

These Crayola- cut boxes

We seem to fit

Ourselves into so easily.

So that when seen together

Red and blue

My mind screams of war

Assuming without thinking

Where did that come from?

Fast as the sound of

Lights above racecars

Policing the day like they

Pierce dark nights

And dark hearts

Miss a beat quick

Even when no crime was committed

Therefore, no violence fitted

But if the shoe fits

Don't wear it if it's

Red and blue

Cause these colors

Are woven into our nation's soil

Like gang threads

North and South

Bodies might get

Conservative-ly sown

Like Liberal-ly scattered

Seed in the ground

While young souls packing heat

Rise up as this political pot

Boils between the

Red and blue

And the fight lasts

Like residue

Of sun-burned skin

When there is no shade

To cover hate without a cause

So when seasons get too hot

Our colors change:

"They" turn red

And "we" turn...

But blue is not the true color

Of my brown

But not really "black"

Face

Or "race" for that matter.

A case that's been made

Too many times

To not be false, right?

But this rhetoric

Has been the lens

by which we view

Human canvases.

We ain't artists

But we can get away with

Painting precious bodies of work

Red and blue

Using our fists for brushes

Or something worse?

That's gallery art

Not meant for public display.

Like looking at painted frames

With no concern for

The masterpiece that hangs.

I'm a witness of One

Made to be less than

The man he willingly became.

See Jesus

The image of God

Embraced our

Red and Blue

Filled veins like us

Yet His color was royal

The sum of the two

Made One

Purple

Like the robe He wore

On trial as

King of all kings

When mocked by Jews

Aftershock of torment by Gentiles

Exposing His flesh torn until

Red and blue

Perfectly displayed the un-human.

And He loved us first

Without sin and hate

Everything He gave

Even when it seemed

Red and blue

Won the day

Let sin have its way

<