Long ago, I created a world that was made of paper and crayon

as vibrant as all that lives.

Red was the colour of warmth and autumnal trees.

yellow was the sun, somewhat round, sporting thick yellow rays.

Blue shaped a sky that crossed pages to the tables and floors.

Black gave life to shadows and the night though we never used it.

I had a collection of smiles.

Now my world has merged with chaos no longer mine.

There’s another drawer, another set of colours.

Now my world is all brick and concrete.

Now there’s less need for green trees. Green has another need.

Drawings on doors replaced by the tortured souls ignorant to their pain

bloody and bruised as if prunes had a heart they walk.

Blue is a more a feeling.

Black has ordered a coup.

Mutiny is on the tongue. They won’t back down.

We will keep on growing stretching arms and hands to reach the chequebooks and license plates.

I have no use for crayons now.

The sun shines on.



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