#12 – Patterns

Graffiti on a wall,
Without a message or image?
Hardly.
It’s on the sidewalk,
At the entrance of a primary school,
In a small, quiet, sleepy village.
Children imagining,
Playing,
Having fun,
Perhaps dreaming,
Of walking on rainbows,
Before school begins again.
Yet the colors are circular,
Within life’s rectangular boundaries.
One small triangle remains untouched,
Unpainted.
During my life,
I’ve collected many colors.
They’re embedded in me,
Some visible,
Others buried.
And there is one that’s still authentic.
It’s the one I need to protect.
The colors add to life.
The grey makes it real.
Simple, bare, true.