Precious colour

We talk in shapes of precious colour,

twisted about and twisted in.

Our curse is that we feel it so,

but we can’t bring the darkness out.

Twisted out and twisted begin,

can you feel how it feels to breathe?

Here we won’t bring our darkness out

though the moon seeks to serenade us.

Can you feel how it feels to breathe,

floating in a space outside yourself,

while the moon serenades us?

She washes skies over in silver lace,

floating in a space outside yourself.

Is it our curse that we feel it so,

the skies washed over in silver lace,

as we talk in shapes of precious colour?