The Inconstant Chromatic
Take me, fly me, fire me away,
Make me belong in this blaze of apathy.
Bars of one don't fit my glove,
Beats of two won't give enough.
Refractions strike pounding the pavement,
Now all I see is pains in my statements.
Blue lights learn the darkness,
Black sights scorn the heartless.
The angst on the ground brings displaced water,
Lifted from its homeplace,
Its comfort and its grace.
No base for my centre,
This hole growing greater.
Make me blue, make me red,
And even make me white,
Make me all the colours of the sun that you like.
Pick me up, put me down,
It never was in sight.
Carry on in your soar
Of the skies it was rare,
Never again will this shade
Colour me through the air.
Copyright © Ailsa Geddes | Year Posted 2007
|