I've spent my life listening
To everything, to nothing
To everyone's pain except my own
Reaping for good what others have sewn.

I forever listen to words
Words that soon turn to color
The color of shame or of malice
Color that runs through my mind like madness.

Each color brings new suffering
Like being trapped in a game with no ending
The colors burn through my heart and soul
Cause I only listen, I have no control.

It seems everyone has something to say
They come to me for guidance or to pray
For better days to come, something to change
Their words bring odd colors that range.

I ready myself to read their words
Every hue dancing with great vigor
But there are only two colors I truly fear
The black of spite, the white of terror.

Black is expressed by a woman well scorned
Or a teenager oppressed from the day they're born
I see their black rage as they relate their stories
I see how they're victimized, how sad it must be.

And I've seen true white on only one occasion
When a girl asked me for help, so brave then
She told me of her abuse, tears scarred her face
And I cried for her too, a girl stripped of her grace.

These colors stay with me after every talk
They're easier to understand than open dialogue
And I know that when a person turns from black to yellow
My listening to colors has helped, and that's a great memento.