Colours Burn
by Morning Star

Colours burn into my mind,
twisting, turning, open wide—
and rain, like heartbreak,
beats against the heart—
tears of years, torn apart.

I wait in silence,
hoping someone soon will come—
to hold the sword,
to bring the sun,
to drive the shadows far from here,
and lift me from this angry glare.

The hare runs swift beneath the trees,
low and light, beneath the breeze.
The deer lies still, too scared to move—
for hunters loom,
and swords pursue.

But the little one,
she dares to dream—
a dream to hush
the inner scream.
She reaches out
toward sacred light—
and in his glow,
she finds new life.

Yet anchors grip and pull her back,
as shadows press a cold attack.
Still, she fights, and braves the door,
though fear still whispers
more… and more.

The voice remains—
a ghost, a chill,
a broken spell
that haunts her still.

And no one comes,
and no one hears,
as storms crash through
the passing years.

Until—
she sees you.
And all is still.