Tristan Robert Lange

Color Blind?

The truth is:

I see color and so do you—

The grass is a vibrant green,

The sunny sky shades of blue—

Yes, we see color, both of us,

It is the truth that you and I do.

But for the grass, so green,

Massively manicured—not tall—

It would not be all that mean,

Not really that mean at all,

To say the green ain’t the grass,

But its chlorophyll content seen.

The sky,

If you’ve never wondered why

It may appear so deeply blue—

There’s no reason for us to lie—

Is filled with gasses, colorless to you.

To me too.

It’s true.

So then,

From here, what shall we ever do,

If we won’t see that the substance, not color,

Of another soul is what’s true?

For souls are colorless,

Neither green, red, purple or blue.

You say you don’t see color,

Yet you insist you are white—

You’re the most colorless of all—

But what a horrible plight

Before this salvific kind of call:

White is not colorless at all.

It’s a restless rainbow of colors

Of which, friend, you are but one shade.

So, please,

Stop acting color blind, when,

You know in your mind,

Color is haunting you all the time.

It’s not you dear friend,

And we’ve all done the time—

Please will you see the truth

While you’re in your prime—

Rather, it’s society’s brainwashing

That commits the real crime.

The moment to change—that’s here.

Now is the right word—the right time.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

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