Another morning, he sighs, as he sits, sipping his steeped motivation. Quietly, he begins peeling away the fog that layers his mind, residue of another fitful night. He is somber, but pleased to be awake, to be alive, grateful for the peace and the quiet of early morning — fleeting though it is.
His thoughts begin to un-blend, gathering in a cohesive palette of emotions. They catch his notice this morning, as they slowly sort, into what he perceives, as the colors of mood — moods he recognizes all too well.
He sees the dark ebony of anger, the shades of purple that are pain. Here is the violet of regret, and the sorrowful blues. But here too, are gentle peaceful greens, golden joy, and laughter’s bright amber. And, ahh yes, love’s deep ruby red, and the hot scarlet of passion!
As he muses, reflections on his mortality creep in, unwelcomed. They shoulder in coldly, crowding his reverie, reminding him of his advanced age, and acutely failing health. Pondering his plight he curses his fate. He feels himself struggling beneath the weight of uncertainty. A riot of emotions overcome him.
He seeks clarity, so he retreats to his typewriter, his tool of expression, his canvas for poetry. As outside, saffrons and corals stir into dawn, he sits at his desk, brings his fingers to the keys, and begins painting — deep indigo.
I fear the loss of color
were it all gone grey
*
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: dVerse