Light

You painted yourself, right into your true colors, washing away the black and white, with your very own brush, softest strokes first exposing that light in your eyes, the brightness that had lain dormant for eons, like a bear cuddling in a dark black cave, until it all rushed out, a flood on a canvas of white, with rainbow colors underneath rising to the surface after your innocent country birth, when only a doctor and your mother saw your tiny face, hands clutching at air, witnesses to your perfection, until the years dimmed the palate, and the dark soil of a landfill of fear flung the blossoming down, dragging you into a tight cloak of ignorance, back again to black and white.