Orange-Purple-Green.

Tears of pure ecstasy resting on shards of verdant satin,

Rolling into the innermost folds of the brightest dawn

And the gentlest sunrise,

Bergamot and honey.

In a violent fit, the crystalline mass molds into

Thin skeins of wire-

Encapsulating,

Pulling,

Twisting

At the most delicate of heartstrings.

Red-Yellow-Black.

Slices, cut shallowly by traitorous garnet,

Threaten the broken pigment of faith-

Outlined in immeasurable heat.

Blisters crop, melting once supple flesh

Into diamond, beautifully maddened.

“‘Madness next to godliness,’ they say-”

The purest luminescence taking its last stand in

A contrasting war,

Painting all darkness in preserving hope.

White-Blue-Yellow.

Swaths of joy, dyed with cerulean skies,

Drift onto banks of soft reassurance.

All is calm.