The Colours.
She ponders, by the window,
the mellow-honey seraphic child
the irreproachable child
the intangible princess child
amongst the colours
engulfing her whimsically
in a paintwork
of jejune rainbows.
Beguiled, you stumble
into her air of intrigue whereupon
you find that behind those
sugar-spun curls and
fairy peach complexion,
she has no eyes.
Blindness! An intangible web
of colours; where longing
meets beauty. She may be blind
but she is not ignorant.
And she touches, inquiringly,
the colours; Orange, subtle sunshine,
scratching, longingly, at the surface of
her blank white paper.
Pink, candyflossicecream
dripdrip dripping-
Pink, onto a neon-coloured world.
She silently uncovers
dark green moss, over
a solid black wall.
Black, stepping out so boldly,
so prominently, but hardly
ever noticed: is she too different
from white?
There she sits, daintily
by the window smudged
with noisy fingerprints,
the mellow-honey seraphic child
the irreproachable child
the intangible princess child
amongst the colours
she cannot see.
poem by Ballerina With Fins
Added by Poetry Lover
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