Prism

Light might be rigid,

A little bit brittle,

White as a rage burned livid,

Bright like a blank page's middle.

They say light could crack,

Exploding from a spark,

Straightened rays learn to refract,

Swaying in and out of the dark.

When it bends and folds,

Through vapors of the mind,

Rended in prisms, my soul

Sends colorful schisms that blind.

So you watch me bloom,

Exposing my makings.

Though you've read about my blues,

Know these are paints, not the painting.

I'll stand in the sun,

To split my hue in parts.

I am greater than their sum,

I am the prism in my heart.