The true colors of life are black and white,
and not the sparkling candles of impression
that reside in the delights of double rainbows.
 
These carefree hues are kodacrome impostors,
mere illusions of our mind’s haunting prism;
they are the mistrusting remnants residing
flamboyantly as our willful compassions,
exhibiting the succulent flirtations by which
we aspire to reach beyond our own frailties.
 
Yet, their magical temptations inspire aspirations
which draw us to within our soulful reflections
and allow us to praise our unyielding stroll.
 
But as the beginning of life evolved from black
with the spark of a light, or the mere thought of it,
we do recount our mortal souls, black or white.
 
--- Our stories told.