As a child, they were, a wonder,
The brown stone bridge and the blue flowing under,
The green withering away on reaching the path,
The fiery red flames spitting everywhere its wrath,
The yellow sun, or orange maybe,
The pink that clouded the hands of babies,
The black cold night and the white snowflakes,
When colors had life, that was ours to take.
And today on the bridge I stand,
With withered white dissolving the pink of my hand.
Where went the colors? the wonder?
Now red is just love or danger.
The yellow just a hideous bright color,
The blue is for rain: for eyes or weather,
The green has, now, no space to grow,
Other colors, with time, come and go.
The people too are colored now
In their cheerful oranges,
Or gloomy blue nights.
In the black ashen hearts,
Or in the red gore fights.
In the yellow sunny smiles,
Or the lifeless aged white.
In the carefree green lives,
And colorful soaring kites.
But you my friend,
You my love,
Are very hard to define.
I look hard,
And guess I might,
But I’ll never get it right.
For you are where my judgment fails,
With your color having neither meaning nor shade.
As I stand at this rationality’s edge,
You are, where all my colors merge.