(untitled)



	Many days it does not matter

	if the sky is a particular color blue

	or the grass is coated in flaming leaves



	I can only see inside my mind

	hues of black and grey

	colors of loneliness and isolation



	Sometimes I can lift the veil

	and peer out

	capturing a piece of living color

	bright and mostly beautiful



	Though sometimes covered with salt

	and slush; the stuff of disappointment

	and broken dreams.



	Still, its life lived fully,

	contact made and feeling realized

	eyes unshrouded by illusion



		The Poet (of Joan C.)

				

 

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