I don’t see black and white the way you see.

I see the color inside,

Past the color of the skin.

In a jar in the center

Of their being.


I see the colors we all have inside:

The greys and blues of pain and sadness.

Each drop lighter or darker

Marking moments in their life.


In the monochrome

Are yellows and oranges.

The radiating sunrises

Of laughter and smiles, joy and hope,

Overflowing, out shining, out lasting

The dark greys of life.


Hidden in the glass jar

Purple gems, purple friendships.

The color of royalty,

Of richness,

Of the sweetness of raspberries.


Sometimes they are paired

With red.

The anger and arguments.


To close, buttons pressed,

Weaknesses targeted.

Tearing into each other,

It hurts the closer you are.

It burns, takes up your thoughts.

The passion.

The flames forge the ring.

Two beings,

One color.


A prism of color

Just below the surface.

The colors of life

Make us all colored.



With all of the political stuff going on I just got to thinking about what it means to be colored. What does it mean to be Asian, or Black, or Caucasian? What does it mean to me a human being? In fact, we are all a lot more in common than we think.

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6 Responses to Colored

  1. Bubuyog says:

    I have not thought of it this way! And you are so right!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Carleen Pedersen says:

    You’re a deep thinker, Aplabw. And you do an excellent job of putting your thoughts on paper!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Sarah Abigail says:

    Very thoughtful poem. The world would be so boring without color.

    Liked by 1 person

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