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.
