Before everything fades, and before, I will take away the colors. Let me tell a little bit about me. Since early childhood, one can no longer surmise the fact that I could not pass the color test, and with each passing years, my site deteriorates. My last eye exam, I was given a 60% color sight. Some days I catch a color (so, I may think) but a mere wishful thinking, although, I am still wishing to see all the colors of the rainbow.
Mute Poetry, Speaking Pictures, without colors.. Lets begin....
And there is the silence of this morning, which I have broken with my pen, a silence that had piled up all night. Like a heavy dark blanket that has fallen on top of the house—the silence before I wrote a word and the poorer silence now.
And, when night begins to fall from the black oaks, darkening, In the nightingale’s soft call. Our despair will, solemn, sing a muted song. I also find my fear of black and white, being lifted, as I exposed, what I truly see, with each waking moment.
Some things you know all your life. They are so simple and true they must be said without elegance, meter and rhyme, they must be laid on the table beside the salt-shaker, the glass of water, the absence of light gathering in the shadows of picture frames, they must be naked and alone, they must stand for themselves in the muted corner of the mind.