Watercolors spread across a plane.
The Red splattered across the Green.
Running together as soldiers pick up to leave.
The final stroke to a master piece.

The geometric pattern of the bodies slayed.
Fallin' to a specific shape.
As if by Hands they were precisely layed.
To resemble the fate at which we would all end.

                            .  .  .  .  .  .  .

A battle field is not the war I wish to address.
It is the war between Colors we face each day.
Stressed between individuals of a single shade.
The humor that when mixed together we become, all the same.