The Many Colours

"The Many *Colours"

Yin yang semantics,
Serving as a model of meaning,
I ask you,
What’s the use of poetry, anymore…
When we all assume so many assimilations,
Perceptions, Translations,
Interpretations, explanations,
Are we missing the point?
Are some of us missing our own point?
It doesn’t make me think so much just to hear,
The yellow hue of things,
To see the color, I dwell in goodness,
But these words are not that yellowness,
It sours like in lemons,
And maybe you like sucking them,
but I won’t keep riding,
This train of thought off track,
And into the whipped, fluffy clouds of your mind,
At the same time,
I can’t keep forcing a smile,
Even with my drowning in this dark red w(h)ine,
This howling in the night,
I like your coyote voice but not your plight,
And those who shit-talked about your ego,
Might’ve been right about you,
Your sensing my intensity,
Sure was “outta sight,”
Though I appreciate the judgment,
It felt more like the grudge,
Meant to penetrate my being,
Funny, how we play pretend,
With our friends and enemies,
I can’t help but wonder,
Which of your other colours yours have also seen?


* Here in Canadia, "color" is spelled "colour".