A World Without Colour Poem by Alex Lear

"Where is the colour? "
Scrutinised the emotional delinquent,
starved of hue.
The grey pastel bled through the canvas,
contorting the original depiction,
meandering through the sketch,
showing no contempt

Drawn by rationale and greyed by logic,
the piece stood; sedentary, somber,
stained by time, embossed by solitude,
Winter days rambled in to winter years,
Solid foundations supported high walls,
arrogant to the dystopia.
Pretentious.

There was no warmth
There was no colour

A fleeting ray of light scanned the wall,
searching without judgement,
piercing through deep and wounded fissures
filtering through to the canvas,
unbiased in her tact.

The delinquent trusted hopeful intuition,
experience pleaded, anxiety mocked,
afraid and shaking he threw himself,
all his might striking,
felling the facade,
delirious with yearning

The World smiled, warmed,
colours danced under the sunlight,
fervent in their ritual,
rationale nor logic would understand,

The canvas stood, proud,
made vibrant by the light,
disclosing it's magnificence
in a myriad of colour
to a zealous World

In the absence of light,
There will be no warmth,
there will be no colour.