Our Colorless Palette
by Odin Roark

Through birth’s ethereal optics,
the unborn considers.

Not so distant,
Up-close letting of blood,
Unlike that of the past,
Refracts its blinding insurgent sheen
Into a rancid message mix,
Leaving little to imagine,
Save the ultimate density of death’s fusion,
The violent shroud quashing innocence.

The unborn perplexed,
Feels want of understanding,
Even as birth’s journey remains imminent,
Adding to the soon to be result:
Earth’s ant hill proliferation of humanity unabated.

Why, it wonders. Why such…

Ocular focus struggles,
For swirling above the earth,
Gases make yellow-gray the once blue-green oceans,
As life’s moisture rising from the seas,
Rapidly turns into tempest clouds of suffocation.

Atrocity lock-steps through streets,
Bludgeoning reason into back-alley shadows,
Rendering defenseless the ignorant,
Helpless the simple,
Impotent the accomplished.

As delivery draws near,
Parental smiles project egoistic welcome,
Prepare swaddling wraps of pride,
As accompanying intoxication
Keeps blind innate perception,
Obviating reality.

The once purity of white,
Having become but a flag of surrender,
Unknowingly makes ready the new lineage,
Knowing to experience evil’s blackness
Is to witness life’s light absorbed
Into a darkened void,
Reflecting nothing in return.
Becoming but a colorless palette.

Still…

Possibilities live.
We can change.