Our Colors True

Searching is the game,

And without guidance we play.

We take the deep plundge,

but alone are we.


Cold darkness envelops us,

But as we search deeper,

What are we searching for?

Where are we?


Our goal begins to haze.

The purpose becomes a dream.

Protection surrounds us.

A sheild or a prison?


The barrier finally closes.

All becomes clear to mind.

What are we searching for?

Our colors true to heart,

But it's too late

For in the prison we remain. 

This poem is about: 
Our world


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