Beauty in the Knowing
Pastel pages turn and turn,
colour mix turning to burn.
Foster baby cries its first,
bursts of today taking its turn.
Every shade will have its season,
every fire will find its reason.
Blister pack locked it in,
soaking up packets of sin.
Last moments in the soup,
regaining a sense to recoup.
Hold the light against the glass,
let the colours drift and pass.
Nothing owed and nothing lost,
only the turning, only the cost.
Past the future round and round,
pure chaos in master the sound.
Beauty in the knowing.
Everything showing.
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