Sunday, June 26, 2011

Text "Of Colors True and In-between" (Illustrations follow)

Magic, make-believe, or is it real?
What is it that we really see?
Is it day or is it night?
Of colors true and in-between.

Perhaps the day is the way,
Or behind the black of dark we find,
A way to start anew,
For me and you,
Of colors true and in-between.

Moon and stars so far away,
Or are they close but just look that way?
It might just be how you choose to see,
What's here,
What's there,
Is not everywhere.
Of colors true and in-between.

Nor can everyone see who has eyes,
Unless you know how to gaze beyond the clouds,
And through the sky,
Where dreaming and reality blend in harmony,
Of colors true and in-between.

Beyond the life, and death, and in-between,
Is the dance of magic and make-believe.
Nothing surprises,
Nothing depresses,
We're here,
Then there,
Only is love,
Of the colors true and in-between.

As the colors slip and slide, and define everything,
We sit and wait for things to turn green,
Or pink, or blue, or some color hue,
That happens to be exactly right for you.
Of colors true and in-between.

Where is day?
And where is night?
There's flying, and sitting, and simple fright.
Which is real?
And which is make-believe?
Don't try to tell me,
You don't see what I see.

Time is not time. Is it now, or later, or yesterday?
What's a calendar?
What's a clock?
Universal power says all about days,
And the tick-ticking-tick-tock of clocks.
Every time is time to play,
And smile, and laugh, and dream awhile,
Of colors true and in-between.

Somewhere in the middle of magic and make-believe,
Way beyond our dreams,
Where all the worlds we experience meet,
Are no definitions, or labels, or situational rules,
Like boundaries,
Or loss,
Or weeping,
Of colors true and in-between.

No language,
Not really,
That's all kind of silly.
It's all about being here, or there,
Or maybe farther over there,
With blue skies,
Cloud formations.
And earth below our feet.

Where the colors of our dreams bleed into the dark,
And back again when the sky isn't dark.

People slipping away,
On most ordinary days.
On feet?
In boxes?
What for?
How Far?
Just beyond the windows,
Or atop the wings of birds or butterfies?

In and out of our dreams they reappear,
The clocks and calendars reminding us of our fears,
Of colors true and in-between.

Home is sweet,
And sweet is home,
What you think is what you see,
What you see is what you think.
So dream upon those blue-sky days,
And right on in the black of dark.
Magic, make-believe, or is it real?
What is it that we really see?
Is it day or is it night?
Of colors true and in-between.

1 comment:

Jackie said...

I love this Darlene,
what a great talent you have!