I hear the colors waving in my thoughts,
with yellows rising, reaching to the white,
and falling grand arpeggios to blue,
then burying to violet and black,
beyond the grave of my perceptions—gone.
The undulating rhythms flickering
like candle flames of solemn holy mass,
an everlasting birth-rebirth of life
in rampant earthly sprints that, to and fro,
arrive and leave like those we’ve met and known
who’ve disappeared and now simply exist
in just such thoughts, as colorful and vain.

(C)2004, Christos Rigakos