Opaque

So many shades of human surround you, 

And you choose colours that blend into the background, wishing to be unseen? 

You misunderstand yourself, 

You are visible,

When you glance at these fleeting colours;

Blue, steely grey, 

Wisps of paint and hair, 

Behind glass, 

Glass Is the only colour for it, 

See through, opaque, 

Nothing visible behind it, 

Frosted. 

Why not the sharp yellows? 

Or the dazzling blues? Those deep deep blues ... 

Those bush greens, those olives, 

That faded warm comforting blue? 

Those pinks, those reds, 

Browns and golds, 

And deep, ever changing blue, an ocean of it, all to yourself? 

You may see glimmers of colours behind that glass, 

You may see the deep red, you may see that bright yellow, 

You may see the bush green,

But they are only illusions, and your family is not your family.

Of course, it is natural for you to see that beloved blue, a glimmer all you need to create an ocean behind, a glass jar floating on a river of eternal, endless blue. 

It is unreachable, 

It is unreasonable,  

It is not possible for the red, yellow, and green to be together on one canvas anymore, is it? 

So you grasp at shadows on the wall, and flickers of lighthouses and smear blood, accidentally leaking from your wounds, 

Upon these glass vessels. 

Some have boats inside, 

But some have departed. 

The ocean ripples softly, 

Calm water surrounds your body, and you breath in the air, and as you grasp at the glass objects, bobbing softly on the waves, no message within. 

You try to read anyway, 

As the sea holds you.