THE COLOURS KNOW MY NAME

THE COLOURS KNOW MY NAME

The colours know my name,
But never say it right,
They crawl across my thinking,
And rearrange the night.

The red one stole my shadow,
The green one stole my face,
The purple keeps on telling me,
I’m standing in its place.

I found a thought this morning,
It wasn’t even mine,
It sat inside my teacup,
And asked me for the time.

The blue began to follow me,
It slipped beneath my chair,
I turned around to catch the thing,
But nothing blue was there.

The blackness has no colour,
Yet somehow knows them all,
It waits behind the brightest ones,
And watches while they fall.

Sometimes my mind goes walking,
And leaves me far behind,
I wonder where it disappears,
And what it goes to find.

Perhaps we’re only colours,
That think that we are skin,
Perhaps the world is outside us,
Or maybe we’re within.

So when my colours twist again,
I’ll let them have their way,
They know a world I’ve never seen,
But visit every day.