Rainbows in the Atmosphere

Red is the colour of passion,

yet anger and danger too. It courses

through our veins, however, and keeps us alive. Orange

is the colour of gold, like the tips of the railings at the

Château de Versailles and the frames around the paintings and

the ornate designs on the ceilings.

Yellow is the colour of sunshine. Bright feelings,

daffodils, sunflowers: summer.

Yet its nastier shades have unpleasant connotations:

sickness, bruises, pus.

Green is the colour of growth,

of vitality, of life. In grass, in trees,

in certain fruits it exists and flourishes.

Blue is everything. The ink in the foundation

of literature; the sky above us holding

the clouds, the blanket in which the sun is immersed,

the sea - a body of life, emotion, dramatic scenes I would compare to the womb for the comfort it brings.

Violet is the predominant colour of

my old school blazer. A colour close to Blue

as if it could be his sister. Lavender, the flower,

is of a lighter shade than it, a reflection of purple's ability to be calm,

soothing rather than forever that deep angry colour so bold and fierce in its nature.

Pink is a flowery colour,

so frail in its pale state yet even underestimated when

vivid and alive.

Turquoise is a bluish-green

or is it greenish-blue? A light, undemanding colour -

a pleasant one to have in the water-colour set.

Grey... A gloomy colour.



But does anybody ever consider that silver, a rather pretty colour,

is really shining grey? Or that selfless Grey complements

the other colours, upon creation having sacrificed her beauty

to highlight the wonders of her friends?

White. The colour of blankness,

open space: paper waiting to be filled with words, canvases

on which art will be created, clouds which linger

before darkening and emptying. The colour of surrender. It would match with

any other colour in clothing and on accessories.

The world of that penetrating iris and the

contracting, dilating pupil.

Black. Shadow. The absence of light.

A liquid colour which flows even though it appears stationary.

The backdrop of the stars. The symbol of darkness, a tool for emphasis,

the fears of every man epitomised.



The life of the world.

Nature's direct descendants,

equal in emotion, drama and meaning.

We act like we control them but

they control us: affecting our mood, arousing our curiosity, playing on our thoughts and opinions.

Contrasting, harmonising, they lead a life of their own.

Nothing would be anything without colour.

The End

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