Colors in a wasteland
A palette rainbows mock.
Barren, cracked, riverbeds,
Rivulets of burnt sand and brown rot.
There on Fate\'s cruelest easel,
Flawed prisms in shadows play,
Both cried dry, with blurred prescience,
Scarred, scared amidst delay,
Bold to blend, cold to mend,
Suffering life\'s artistic end.
Would I were the color master
I\'d tear down and rip drawn alabaster,
Scatter parchments, rubble the rest.
Release the colors, follow their quest.
Circle the cerulean chariot round carmine\'s arena
With slashing strokes of sanguine magical patina,
Brushed vermillion, warmed alizarin,
Crimson greyed, greening to give again.
And I, mastered by color,
Framed in velvet indigo,
Live again,
Dream again.
Augustus / Folsom, LA / November 2016