B/W Dreamed In Color
by Odin Roark

Shrapnel shards
split the silence,
tainted metallic taste,
blood of nightmares
cascading down mountainsides.

One’s piled baggage,
soil of growth,
mulch of waste,
rebirth abounding,
budding predilections,
trying so hard,
so hard.

So goes the night,
when escape holds court,
judging not the guilty,
but sentencing the exonerated,
the innocence of B/W
trying so hard,
so hard.

Toward one’s dawn,
black works its way,
finding gray,
merging dreams seeking forgetfulness,
stirring colors,
any colors,
urging blurred memories
into fall carpeted tundra--
the mind’s preparation.

The deep freeze
of cyclic wisdom
awaits mere compliance
to allow the perfection of rhythm,
yet, we try so hard,
so hard.

B/W knows color.

Needn’t be dreamed.

For like the rainbow’s dispersion of light,
the heart’s luminescence
remains composed of emotion’s wavelengths,
conscious spectra seeking continuum.

How foolish to live only life’s B/W.

Yet at times…

How coerced our hearts become,
hampering imagination’s purpose--
to allow life’s B/W to be dreamed in color.