I feel better when , just being myself and seeing the colour of life more , not just the black and white of the mundane
Colouring in
The winds of scarcity pinch colour from my already desolate world
Becoming restrained in an amemic terrene
Even the tone of these voices a shortcoming , dearth of colour
Here a heart in exile , more bitter than yours
As if to bury my hopes in a grave
A Mothers voice cloaked in empathy , reveals a loving heart
To behold beauty without colour how?
This heart seperated and in pieces though white as snow, muttering “ I will soften, I will soften , I will soften”
Colour all-important as needful as air, water and food
In my hopelessness , feeling worthy would be a revolution
These pills in their bleached innocence default of colour
Eyes like a tent to the senses , monotony arresting an intensity under wraps
My perception breaths life , a new individuality emerges, a continuation of the previous essense
An observant soul makes an appearance as tenderness and zest returns