He pensively rests upon his modest throne.
Not a sound, deep in speculation,
He is a priest of colors-
Lecturing with his brush,
The paint: his sermon.
There is no church, no god.
Only the esoteric confession
Between man and canvas.
I look up and
suddenly I am at the top
of a mountain.
Nothing but clouds that surround
to hold my hand,
so there I stand…
attempting to scream
as loud as I can.
But nothing comes out, so I dream.
My smile is the sun warming
bleak souls with vibrant beams,
creating peace below…or so it seems.
Abruptly my laughter pours
out, so on a rain cloud I lean.
But it is irrepressible - I'm on all fours.
Endorphins seeping, trickling down.
So I open up the door
and paint with colors from my core,
replacing the worlds gray with vivid tones.
Sunshine and rainbows to ensure
that the blissful truth is shown
and shared, but never compared.
And slowly I realize I was never alone.
I blink and find your eyes…I'm home.
Colorful colors, colors everywhere.
Afar, maybe near, or just someplace over there.
Colors in quantities,
A copious amount.
Too many colors to keep any count.
Metaphorical colors aren't physically there,
But a good color-finder can sense them in the air.
True colors like to a person describe;
Who's what in what way- the how and the why.
In a colorful world, we all live and stay.
In colorful beds, at night we all lay.
With colors, there's always a great source for play.
Colors make life worth living each day.
One time, when I was young
I thought I was dead
Colors swirled, energy surged
I was no more
Outside I went
To see the clouds above my head
There were none
Only black skies, and colors
In my peripherals
On my irises
In my corneas
On my mind, colors
Power was out all around
Miles out I could see it coming
It was a cloud
Void of colors
It was a rip
I was dead
Then a few hours more, alive
an the day turns colors
and they go from green to red
from blue to red
we were meant to be
we are not killers
we are lovers
we are not killers
but we kill
cause they tell us to
an we don't want them
mad at us
the colors turn
from any color
from every color
and then to red
Sweet Summer sun sinking
An eye in the sky, blinking
Shading golden rays
On now cooler
Trees are all dressed
In their best
For winter's sleeping slumber
The wonder of it all
As I ponder this call to be true
All the while contemplating
Colors that have yet to surface
In me and you…