If sorrow was a colour

If sorrow was a colour

It would be brown

It is as far removed from the yellow

Of the sun

As anyone can get

Even though the colour blue

Has many hues some of which

Might well suggest a little sadness

There is a brightness in its design

The sky is as lightened as a day can make it

Without the frown of brown to bring it down

It is a natural progression

To consider trees as more than green

Some have blooms of such wild variety

Cherry blossoms are a thing of wonder.

They can pack away a sturdy trunk

Dapple it down

With moss’s velvet softness

Cover up its chestnut

Silver it with flaking bark

Barnacle it with topknots

Whatever else, it remains

Little more than a supporting cast

Best off hidden

Beneath roughened russet

Foliage all through winter

When long after golden leaves

Have fallen

The drab tan of hardy undergrowth

Holds sway

It is harder to pull away

From the darkening mood

Of winter’s ice-cold wash

The bleed of fawn and grey

The emptiness of snow-white

Landscapes

Needing more than just

A splash of freshly painted cold gold sunlight

To brighten up its day

When the fully blackened spike

Of blackthorn tears at naked flesh

It takes one small drop of blood

To fall upon the virgin snow

To break through the monochrome

Of wintry sepia tones

An infusion of colour

To fashion the beginning

Of a great awakening

A rainbow slashed across the sky

A coat of many colours

To lift the soulful out of sorrow

Banishing tearful salty caramel

From sight and thought

Of tortured mind

Until the next time real life

Intrusions

Bring old defences down

Drain all the colour from the world

And leave nothing else to think upon

But the sorrowness of brown