The Colours.

She ponders, by the window,
the mellow-honey seraphic child
the irreproachable child
the intangible princess child

amongst the colours
engulfing her whimsically
in a paintwork
of jejune rainbows.

Beguiled, you stumble
into her air of intrigue whereupon
you find that behind those
sugar-spun curls and
fairy peach complexion,
she has no eyes.

Blindness! An intangible web
of colours; where longing
meets beauty. She may be blind
but she is not ignorant.

And she touches, inquiringly,
the colours; Orange, subtle sunshine,
scratching, longingly, at the surface of
her blank white paper.

Pink, candyflossicecream
dripdrip dripping-
Pink, onto a neon-coloured world.

She silently uncovers
dark green moss, over
a solid black wall.

Black, stepping out so boldly,
so prominently, but hardly
ever noticed: is she too different
from white?

There she sits, daintily
by the window smudged
with noisy fingerprints,

the mellow-honey seraphic child
the irreproachable child
the intangible princess child

amongst the colours
she cannot see.

by Ballerina With Fins

Other poems of WITH FINS (67)

Comments (1)

A vivid piece effective in its numerous personifications of the different colours - resplendent, splendid and viscous with its meticulous wording. A scintillating read. - K.