Colourless

After staring up at the Sun above,

through the filter of my own flesh,

looking down at the beings on my own level,

everything seems so cold.

Brilliant greens turn phthalo as the warmth and life are sucked out.

Looking at the arrays of blues before me, life is meaningless, unsaturated.

There becomes no distinction between weeds and celebrated plants,

and I wonder,

is it the leaf that categorises weeds? Since weeds flower also, but why are some flowers more valued? Is the chaotic sprawl?

No.

Sprawls exist in all nature. The concept of weeds live in humans only.

So who are the weeds?

I ponder this as the blues turn to greys.