Theory of Colours
Flutter thoughtlessly, White light decomposes, Dream-weaver -o- Dream-weaver, For a spun web, Spectrums of speech, Rest in the vibrancy - // a Weird Fish poem
Pass me by,
You myriad of life.
Amidst Greatness,
Idly watching resolute ideas,
Shift in tone,
With sporadic continuity.
Its intrinsic nature,
In tune with harmonics,
That swim all around us.
It would be fairly odd,
To call me a believer,
But the truth evens itself out,
In the end at least.
Fractalises its core,
Without loss,
And without anymore.
Freely impeach,
Nothing, but the perspective,
Of the perfectly-picked,
Platters of colours,
In which,
We live,
Breathe,
and sleep.
Refuge in the pastelised -
Recover in it all.
