Take it from me
there are things that we hear and see
and feel and perceive
and they tangle and weave
and stab and they bleed
into the cracks in the street
at the souls of our feet,
and we fall and we fail
and we whimper and wail
at the sound of the gavel
in the court at the trial,
oh the sentence is life
and the walls are white
for the rest of our lives,
and when we start anew
I can promise you
that the sky will be blue
and the oceans too,
but the shade of the walls
and the doors and the stalls
and the floors and the halls
and the roofs and the panes
and the pictures and the frames
and the mind and the brain
will bleed a color all the same

*white