Bright Colors
Oh life give us love;
Then gone when eyes do feather blink
A moisture that marks what arms cannot undo,
A harm that minds without what love might think.
We stand between a moment, on the brink,
Hesitating to reach, afraid to touch or be touched.
Shadow phantoms lingering.
Echoes of untried barriers, picking fruits uneaten by gods,
Left by passing winds to rot upon the earth.
In the pit of our stomachs there lies a pain
Stitched to the soul by a line of ending days.
We are not the zipper that stays, or the thread that frays,
We are only a hue of colors that in the end will fade.
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