The Colors Poem by Malik-seven Navarre

Markers, ball pens, quills of zinc.
And things that have no ink.

The tints and tones. Some frail some strong.
Not what you thought? ... Rethink

Like black and white, blood crimson red.
Who's all to me but dead.

And blue and green, world-widely seen.
With more now to be said.

As keen as yellow, as rich as purple.
As sharp as blue is hurtful.

As mad as red, regard black's dread.
These colors display much virtue.

They glow, they shine. Like bells they chime.
Amongst the world remade.

Light up, they do. Some misconstrued.
Their game, well played, well played.

But when they fade, in place there's white.
Tranquil, becomes their life.

When bleached we see, the peace and glee.
White doves, the groom, his wife.

The colors the colors, a band built of drummers.
Who beat and romp the land.

The music they ruckus, paints all that it touches.
The colors, so beautifully grand...