Colour.

What is this mystery?
This substance called colour?

Is it merely an empty visual aid,
to which we use to our advantage,
convincing ourselves it means more.
Believing it defines our realities,
our worlds.



What is this mystery?
This substance called colour?
Is it merely an empty visual aid,

or a condensed vial of hope.
One that defines our life ,
our feelings,
our hearts.



What is this mystery?
This substance called colour?

I believe it shapes us,
everything has a specific colour,
a specific purpose.

An Ode to Fiona

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Oh my dear, why must you be just so vain?
My dear, I understand beauty,
and you are as beautiful as the rain.
but what lies inside, looks like pure mutiny.

In your beating heart, you are a devil.
Ripping apart poor innocent crickets,
is what turns your little soul into evil.
If possible, you would sit on pickets.

Your large green eyes look like heaven's summer.
Fluttering around like two green faeries.
The sound of your voice is like no other,
a soft, sweet, little meow sounds merry.

My dear friend, here is a sonnet for you,
Embracing your beauty and vain heart too.
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About my cat peeps ^^