The lyrics of colors..


It was a field of beautiful flowers.. So many colors and auras, a dream within a dream.. So many reds to spread this crimson song that sings when the wind makes these flowers dance.. The blues are shy as they hide behind the reds not realizing they add the most beautiful lyrics to this quiet song.. The yellows spread their arms far and wide shining like 1000 suns.. The purples are mystery beauty that one can only behold under the white moonlight as it kisses the dark colored dream pedals that shine ever so.. The oranges blossom their sweet melody as they sing in chorus with all the other colors. And the angelic whites are so bright you swear that you see halos over them all.. Within this Galaxy of colors I come across one I have never seen.. In the center of this chaos of beauty stood one shadow black flower.. It stood alone colorless and sad.. As My eyes set upon it I realized that this one was by far the most beautiful of them all.. The shadow black star shined alone at the center of this galaxy.. This is the creator of colors.. Because without this there truly would be no beauty.. Thus beauty starts in the shadow black havens at the center of this beautiful song.. No matter how fast light travels its always greeted by darkness that has gotten their first.. This is the beginning..

I cry
not because
I feel alone
but because
I feel others
out there
not knowing
what to do

You say
you have good
to offer
please
come to
my window pane

I don't
need any chaos
like the
devil
who
stands on
my welcome mat

I'll await
that gentle rap
from you
on my
window
pane

they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******)
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (ladylike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine Deck Painting ~

What lingers, is invisible, and is sometimes silent as it is expressed?

How is it that space is infinite and still produces a vacuum? Normally, in order to create a vacuum you need to have an enclosed space. My answer will shock you, but I want you to attempt to answer this query.

Feast at my death
Lament thee not, at my passing
For I am but a vapor
A winter's breath,
Upon the lips of love