My feet touches, sways, & sweeps,
the white cement left on its street,
it told me, 'begone, begone, begone'
and all I ever cared was the colours of the sun.
A newspaper, thin and fair,
dances along the sways of a breeze,
Smoke creeps out of its small chimney,
of white water and black coffee
A tree stood tall and proud,
despite the lack of clothes and sound,
of the wind, the sun, and the sea,
of anything but the black & white trees.
I stopped, turned and stared,
through the white window
and black chair,
it seemed too easy and fast to me,
but within the black and white,
you were grey to me.
A short easy poem of an average person living within a life of simplicity & reality, that through the window of the barrier between their normality & the abnormality, realizes new life and profound discovery of a new colour.