Wearing Black

I dress in black

They say that black is not a colour

But the absence of colour

But I think black is the most beautiful

The most intriguing of colours

(Or lack thereof)

In one word is held a myriad shades

Ravens wings

The rainbow of oil

The faded almost gray of Victorian mourning dress

Lives, though

That is what is

The greatest beauty of blackness

That is what matters

My black clothes make me different; not quite unique, perhaps a target, sometimes

But I can take them off

Be something else

Those precious lives

Children, artists, lovers, families, all

Their myriad shades should not make a target on their backs