This feeling of constancy.

This moment before the storm

when ideas perch on

the rough-hewn red fence of the mind.

he waits

for colors to drop onto his innocent wings.

To say his feathers are the color of eternity

would do little justice

his colors are those of infinity.

The colors that glisten through solitary rain drops

The colors you cannot possibly find the words to describe

Upon the return of the chaos

he ascends

gliding above necessities

letting color drip from wings onto them.

he perches again

now the color of the sky

before the storm

bloodied by the setting sun

he glows

the embodiment of color

of words

of life

And amidst this chaos

he is doing darting acrobatics through the air

begging desperately to be captured

yet always in love with freedom

you want to put him to parchment

inscribe him in your skin

your heart

your sky

yet always

he is fleeting.

The End

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