PRISM
On the surface,
The colours of my body are
Mostly a subtle affair,
A gentle blending of skin
And hair.
Very pale pinks
A few greenish blue lines,
Tend to be what I see when
I look down
With my very blue eyes
My head inclined
Covered mostly in light brown hair.
A few nuances here and there.
Then we go in deeper,
I believe in there
The colours are
More pronounced;
Blood red rushing
Through it all.
Different textures
Making up my different bits,
Some squishy squashy
And other more spongy.
What an idea,
Makes up this extraordinary
Robust but so sensitive
Machine.
My friends
They come in many hues,
But inside out
We could easily be confused!
And why does this all exist?
To house the most vibrant
Thing of all of course!
Our souls!
From there shines out every colour
Of the rainbow;
Every shade of red, orange, yellow, green, light blue, dark blue and indigo
And so many more,
Depending on our feelings
And reflecting our mood.
So perhaps our bodies are a prism,
Through which all these colours glow?
And perhaps our eyes,
Are also prisms
So that what they see feeds our soul
Which allows such magic and alchemy.
To enhance our journey
While we stroll through
Our lives,
Or dash and chase
Simply to win the race?
The human race
With which every day
We are faced.
What makes me unique?
My tiny take on this - your idea,
Is what might perhaps
Creates my bliss!
Me, I love to sing
And to take photos
To travel
And to speak to people;
All of this in beautiful
Glorious technicolour
Which I can see
With my eyes both
Open and closed.
And I know for sure
That whatever our outside shade or tint,
Our insides match,
And if we truly listen,
Our hearts will always see
Each other
In full rich glorious colour.
About the Creator
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My Mother's Birthday Cards
Every year, for as long as I can remember, I used to make my mother a card for her birthday, and when I was younger, also for any other special occasions during the year. She loved them, they made her so happy and she made her appreciation so apparent that it always made it worth it! The whole room lit up when she smiled with her sparkling green eyes. She left last year (by left, I mean to the place from which one never returns…) and so, as I now go through her things - a task I find so very hard, and yet in other ways rewarding, I keep finding these cards which she treasured, hidden between books on her shelves, or kept in special envelopes amongst other papers. I know they were very special to her and I loved making them. Somehow, perhaps because my father was a painter and a cartoonist, who made his own beautiful cards - I keep finding those too, I wanted to use my own medium with which to create mine. That medium became whatever I could find, mostly coloured paper and or coloured card, which I would cut into shapes with scissors, and in more recent years, a pair of Fiskar scissors with their vibrant orange handle! My mother was a writer, and I would often take inspiration from her passion for writing and literature for these cards and make some tiny little books with coloured paper on the outside and white paper on the inside that I would stitch on so that they could be little “3D” objects on the card. Sometimes I would make the little books in other shapes.
By Joanna Bergin5 years ago in Families
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