What the World Is Made Of (Colors)

Color winds its way through souls –  

plant stems, the lick of a warm breeze, snow, flames that flicker high, painted in 

red, the color of roses 

as well as blood, 

love and war, and 

veins of life, duality – red 

is a human color, I think, in its power, intensity, its ability 

to contradict and to question, depending on how you see it. 

If red is lifeblood, orange is the fire that burns through it, 

amber rich and bright with energy, sunburn and summer flames and blossoms that burst

through my chest and flicker on my tongue 

like sparks.

Yellow is orange but without any trace of the passionate edge of anger, brimming with light –

I find that yellow is less discriminatory in its power, 

the way it brightens and 

blends with dusk, lights the midday sky 

with sunlight, and dances through the leaves in patterns;

yellow is a hopeful color, I think, the beginnings of joy, dawn,

the color of the sun, spring daffodils, and 

ugly, healing bruises. 

Green is a curious color with countless shades to find – lush, notably, 

though vibrant and innumerable, spread far and wide with

whispers of life, ever present and visceral as 

the sourness of limes, creamy avocado; 

the first sprouts in late winter, rich emerald hills in the heat of summer 

so vigorous and animated it becomes an always-there buzz

in the back of your throat. Though,

blue 

is ….

sadder,

melancholy; like green, with such range and variety,

but each shade is the type to come with blurry vision and an aching chest;

sky-blue nostalgia, thick with lost memories,

murky pale shades laden in anxiety,

bright azure joy, but the kind that comes with just as much grief, 

sapphire heartache, oceans to be drowned in,

or to endlessly float through 

blue is all that has been lost and all that is,

even the shades so dark 

they’re almost

black.  

Purple is

what comes after,

twilight, lilac springs, deep, powerful love tinged with the right amount of sorrow;

it’s a healing color, one of recovery and care in all its occurrences, 

whether the fuchsia-violet passion of true lovers caught in life,

the indigo of two souls linked, 

the orchid of a mother’s love, 

the royal purple of the one who fights to the very end, prevails when the ones before could not,

the lavender in finding comfort in being alone, or the 

amethyst of a quiet friendship,

or the many, many others who find themselves somewhere between;

purple is hidden, sometimes, but easy to find if you know where to look, and it will always find you

eventually. 

Sometime it will turn to red, 

or maybe blue, fuchsia, whichever color your eyes are today.

They all melt away eventually, but you will always be able to glimpse each one in the wind outside your window – no matter the fear that one may be gone, it will always reveal itself to you again. 

Your only task, truly, is to relish each glance, each chance to behold, no matter the hue or shade.