There Aren't Any.



The idea of color,

whatever that means,

is something I long for

in my widest of dreams.

To see what I hear about,

when I listen to screams

of the sun on my face

and the wind through the trees.

Being blind is a challenge.

Saying "cut" with no scenes.

But it's something I live with

just like the machines.

I've got hope for the future

and all of its schemes.

I've got faith in my Maker,

whatever It deems.

If the whole world stopped splaying

inelegant themes

and I felt how you saw it

would it make me serene?

Or would it hurt me to know that

all these colors that gleam,

once you see them,

they're nothing, unnoticed, routine.

They're as worthless as fresh air.

An end to a means.

I can't help but notice.

It just seems to be

The idea of color is too scary for me.