Black window Pain

I am not the skin that is seen as only the color of a dark surface to its followers. I am just simply a canvas stripped of its colors from a unity considered freedom; red, white, and blue. Black is seen as such an evil light but yet it shines all around us. Televised through the media and shattered through our homes as if pieces of glass were crystallized diamonds. I am not the black sheep. I am the flowers that pollen through your garden. The water that replenishes a dark star in the mist of an alien sky. The rainbow that prides its colors after the ranging storm. Rain droplets can moist my skin in bronzed honey, but it would only feel like mirrored needles through faint veins. When I say this Hear me as if you sought the slightest cry from a rose withering its petals away. I am no color, I am you. The light that gives us hope, the smiles that gives us joy, and the Hands that gives us Love. Angel tears could bleed through our fingertips, but it would only be seen as a shadow that follows behind our consciousness.