Palette or Palate

Grace is always within you

it is said...Hmmm...

I think grace is pink

which is why its hard to find

when all you see is red.

Love is not all crimson cupcakes

still, there is gratitude, 

warm and orange. 

Citrus can be sweet or sour,

it depends on more than taste.

Every word

a jagged cube of ice

to crush or to melt,

linger into nothing...

Yet nourishing

by experience,

like white or wisdom-

or the sun.

What do I know

of divinity-

But hell

and evil, is black 

Absence or All...

Diluting color

of meaning, when

Time is demanded.

Faith is ordered.

I taste metal,

or my own

blood

while

sensing my fragile

green mortality

All over.

Painting by Vincenzo Irolli (1860-1949), in Public domain, 'Young boy eating a watermelon' via Wikimedia Commons.

Obviously hidden

The treasure chest is locked

of course

I cannot find the key.

Losing it

intentionally

was self-defense.

And of course

someone asked about its

contents.

Privacy excluded,

they meant no offense

to my memory.

But of course

certain things cannot be trusted

with others

Or oneself, really.

That is why

it is safer to hide

Inside.

Painting by Edward Mason Eggleston (1882-1941), 'Princess of the Treasure Isle' in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Divisible

Blessed are thee

memories

chosen to be forgotten

dissolved into distant haze.

Cherished are those

brilliant first rays

alighting the new path

of unknowns.

In the sky

and in the sea,

the clouds and waves

do not recall those passed.

Likewise, made of the same,

and never the same

You and I

remember-

Painting by Henry Scott Tuke, 'Looking out to sea' c. 1885 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.