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The Color of Love

Millions of faces

But only one motion

Infinite masks

Yet never a fit


There is nothing to be worn

That will not soon be outgrown

Yet time still must be worn

To become naked as Eternity


One must feel the pain and solitude

That hides beneath a million masks

And which arises slowly near the edge of comfort

If one is to survive the sudden nakedness

Of being thrust amidst eternal motion

Unguarded in a sea of ceaseless uncertainty


Such frailty survives only from the weightlessness

Of having shed what was once so heavily worn


One so accustomed to holding in mind its knowings

Adapts quickly to become them instead

For otherwise they become lost

And pain becomes all one can hold

In the perceived chaos of infinite motion


Yet the naked hand still reaches out for the edges of things

To believe they’ll always remain

To confirm in the world this new eternity it feels within

Unaware it knows no bounds


But the naked hand returns filled with nothing

Having felt but the sharp beauty of blindness

Having glimpsed for the first time beyond the minds eye

The nameless color of love

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