What is the color of compassion?
It is seen when
The sun throws arcs, that upon which imaginations ride
Bands of prism-cast light
What is the texture of life?
When perception turns to gold
The sun falls through lucid panes, enshrining
Ebony chess pieces in stark contrast
What is it to see?
Why, then, to pity the blind in times when
Sight cannot help?
Alas, till the eyes of some open,
the eyes of many will be closed.
Where does truth lie?
In choked grottos near the desolate beach
A place few voyage to, and less forget
Their memories of skipping stones through the oblivious cobalt lake.
Raincloud with a touch of gray
Dampens the moonlight that
Reflects herself in fluid lines on the water.
Yellow chrome sheen that pierces the eyes
Of the travelers
Who leave footprints to drown quietly
In their wake.