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Jet Black
Contrasting darkness with consuming blackness.
This is not a sad piece, maybe foolishness.
Maybe blindness,
Let's hope these good intentions are read,
The stupidly told past of lust and bed
Are prayed to be looked past.
Years ago,
Straight after the saddening week,
Pity was taken in this reclusive, meek
And insociable blank canvas.
Yet one of the first stains on it,
Was one of black, not red,
Plagued as many memories,
As the hairs on a head.
Though much has been painted over,
The impression still stays,
And has been visited and revisited moreover,
The other strokes show an image
That I promise is not reflective
Of the the intended outcome.
You would be surprised how radiant
That colour black can be.
Though its effect is not blatant,
You will eventually, if lucky, see.
I still wrestle with if,
What it represents,
Exists,
Or presumptions trump logic.
But the idea relentlesly persists
Perhaps the waiting has hurt this neurologic
Sequence of chemical imbalances.
Yet the black discourages such uses,
Acts as voice of reason
To avoid such abuses.
So it's been for a few years
And conservatism has trumped confidence.
Illogical and nonsensical fears
That restrict liberating the conscience.
