The gradient shades of colors diffuse
from shadows to bright, original hues,

challenging the eye to discern them apart:
where does one end and the other one start?

It's a dare of nature's own astute position
to see if we can divine her true condition

to understand what she says in her sane incoherence
and appreciate her point in it's simple appearance.

Most people discount with understanding so gray
but there are more colors than Crayola can say.

So I look into the mixture with pleasure unmeasured
and wonder how many have overlooked such treasures,

and as I look into her rainbow so secret, yet telling,
I can see what she's thinking, touching and smelling.

I'll never let go of her point or perspective
and always rejoice in this color collective.

The gradients sing in a voice so compelling
and I never can pass on the scene it's retelling

of every thought, vision, and experience I've had
and I know I'll forever be hooked on this fad

of the worlds hidden treasure, which is color and light,
and I'll never surrender my passion in fight

because sight is my single most favorite obsession
and gradients capture it all with perfection.

~Sanvean

Black duck rotating slightly on the currents near-subsiding
from it's own playful delighting not a half-moments timing before.

The droplets barely stable as they rest on the table
of the ducks back unable to find a retreat or a door.

I notice in a moment all the colors far from dormant
in a feathered rainbow torrent reaching into my ability to see.

My attention quickly narrows as I ignore even the sparrows
and the wind that slightly bellows as I stand there in the shade of a tree.

Iridescence, like wet paper under a prism's angled taper
grabbing colors I can savor like the glint of drawn sabers brightly gleam.

Transparencies denying what my eyes see in the lying
color depths that hide in hiding and maybe things aren't always what they seem.

I can't accept what knowledge is telling about feathers, water, oils repelling
for it's not so terribly compelling the statement demands retelling to accept.

For I can see through to all the colors within every feather there hides a lover
or god or goddess or some other that leaves my heart to utter, "I'm in your debt".

~Sanvean

This box I inhabit day in, day out screams deafening, piercing, suffocating shouts of stifling choke holds and repetitive bouts of fluorescent light in plastic shrouds. Peeling, stealing the ceiling of my psychotic shell, my living hell, this carpeted cell of dove gray felt with papers strewn about that I should care about but instead daydream throughout the day why I stay in this fray of gray corners and edges inducing, producing, reducing me to a walking, waking nightmare where everything is nothing and reward is misery and my success is my failure luring me with the worm of promise and financial kindness but it's lie is harnessed in creative darkness and spiritual starkness. The emptiness of this kinetic mess confess and stress the lesson of imagined progress within foretold duress. So daily I stare at the glare of electric fare before my straining eyes burning, turning old before their time, line upon line, word after word, keystroke after keystroke this hollow joke is told anew, so blind have I become to it's humor that it's no longer meant to induce a laugh, but I chuckle still at the ill attempt to conceal it's real lack of appeal. I look out the window - my one transparent wall which calls to mind what a lucky bastard I am to have one at all - at the dove gray bird looking in, regarding me with a lack of concern that I would reserve for a worm squirming in the dirt, flirting with my pride as he hides nothing in his eyes as they turn toward the skies filled with white lies and a sun on it's rise to fight against the false light as it's spent the night buzzing in delight as workers slave away under it's false rule and pitiful plight. It's spectrum is empty, filling everything to the brim with it's vacuum, and I concede to it because I feed on it, I wake for it, I train for it, coming back to it day in and day out, to inhabit this dove gray box I'm ranting about. It's my life but I'm fighting toward the dream I delight in where the green is mine and the blue is high overhead replacing the shades of black and white with color and light. On the other side of the glass is freedom of mind, a place to unwind, where time is untimed and gray is defined as what was before color, a onetime acceptable flavor, replaced with vivid fervor and beautiful demeanor. I long for the day when I betray my stay in dove gray and stray back into the fray of blues, golds, yellows and greens, daydreams of heaven and all that I've seen within the reach of my thoughts and future unseen. It IS within my reach, just out that window as I end another day and watch fly away the inspirational dove, gray.

~Sanvean

If you're afraid of the night when darkness has stolen your light,
with no fire to warm you, no hope you can feel.
Your fate is unsure but you know that you're out of time.

If I were there by your side then I might agree that you're right
but I wouldn't leave you. I'd take hold your hand...
become all you've got. Alone, you are not, out of time.

I'll wait with you through the night to guide you back into the light.
No midnight can end us! We'll wish on her bells
so she'll cast her spell to live our years well beyond time.

~Sanvean