I am
color blind, my kind
number in the millions
yet nobody has made a secret
language to sign to us, to ensure
we don’t miss the rich laughter
of the living
no filter, no prism
has been divined to bend light
to our pleasing,
no lens to hug
the eye, to make the gray rose red,
the black sea blue, or imbue a sunset
with more than mocking,
shocking streaks of white
before the hapless night
I do not know what
I am missing, for blood,
when spilled, is but store bought paint,
and how would I get the blues
if hues are emissaries
of another world
one where hearts bleed red
with songs for the dead
I am color blind, my kind
number in the millions
who will never see
Still working my way back from writer's block