In poetry he wrote the heart of colors
without paints or a brush
but with words to direct
and shades to inspect.

Wind whipped fields of green
transitioning from darker to lighter
And lighter to darker
with wet patches here and there
punctuated by yellow, and purple flowers.

The grey gravel road
pushing out into the wild world
starting with sharp rocks,
several distinct shades of grey,
and the occasional black oil spot.
Then swerving softly and violently away
as each color loses it edge
and all shades become one.

The night sky
dark blue almost back
with light sparks
Floating in that strange expanse
chasing down the light blue day.
Then being chased away
with purple, orange, and turquoise hues
wearing cloudy covered colors as well.

In the human form
skin scarred by harsh rays
slightly red, freckled
lines of age
light pink lips.
Neck bulging from exertion.
Sweat slickened skin glistening.
Hazel eyes that explode,
spreading sparse space light
in lines outward from the iris
like a new universe.

Till the mind collapses under the pressure
of trying to see all the colors
and the poet knows he is missing
a million shades, tints, and hues.
However, there are only so many lines in this poem
And only so little time in this
finite color enriched life.