A woman of colour

My colour was red so they said.

This colour was music and passion and anger and rage.

I headed for fame and for fortune but nobody knew that inside me there grew a desire to be white.

In the dark I was blue and vermillion and gold. In the morning in summertime , green.

In the throes of passion the colour was yellow. Sickly and gaudy and mean.

In my parents arms , pink. In my lover's hands black and the chorus behind me is grey.

Air is silver, wind is ice white, the sun above me gold.

I am cold and chilled by the dark brown obsessions that plague me anew and of old.

Sun streaked windscreen and shafts of light which pierce my life and my soul

A babble of language that unknown to me makes my life and my thoughts turn to gold.

I am the white woman. Pure and calm. Unblemished, clear, untouched.Finished and perfect. Whole.