Song of Colors
Song of colors, hands of lofted colors,
colors with wings, with airy shapes,
with dancing rainbows
that follow the storm,
that rise with the scarlet morn
and ride with the sun,
that slide under us with their sky bound hands
and place us in a dream,
a dream of noble warriors on aerial steeds,
of ochroid clouds headed for the final curtain,
racing with the wind, the colored streams,
the emerald hills, the white mountain caps,
sending us down the craggy cliffs
on a cathartic sled,
dropping us down through the
diabolic chasms of the haunted ground,
the blackened earth, the mysterious caves,
the home of the Prince of the Dark,
then on a hallowed white carpet
rising to the azure skies again
on a melody that rides up
and down the spine,
that feathers the anxious nerves,
lifts us up into lofted cathedrals
where divine secrets open up the
fissures of the breathless mind
and sing to us in sacred colors,
colors that run into our callous hearts,
that spur us on to write a symphony,
to ride upon rainbows, the thunder,
the crests of the turbulent waves,
the heat of the ochroid sun,
the air that passes through
the lips of the tulips,
the softness of the velvet petals,
songs of air giving to the air,
of ambrosial charm, harmony of sound,
colors of haunted melodies,
of love singing in the ear of the heart,
painting pictures of pure bliss,
of the white corridors of heaven,
the colors of the eyes of the Almighty
in a song that we wrote
with our heavenly colors.
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