When you change the colour of the view,
The world takes on a different hue.
Writing's both a window and a mirror,
You can see life and yourself clearer.
This stained glass window labelled a poem,
Different phrases, different colours, different gems.
The scales of glass in an iron frame,
My words must fit the form.
Each word a different shard on the palette,
A poetic mosaic, not quite transparent.
A translucent lens.
I will you see creation through it
Extenuating before you in a piquant pigment.
In a tint I can show you joy,
In a separate, pane. Tainted.
Yellow, blue, red and green,
And a thousand nuances yet unseen.
You can't read all of it, nor look through every colour,
But perhaps the icon on the window can be discerned
When they tessellate together, the person I am trying to show, the bigger picture, the grand design.