He Once Ceased To See The Colors Poem by Rod M.Peters

He once ceased to see the colors
And the lights
And the glimmering of the sea
And the sparkle in the eye.
Rainbows cracked and fell down
And the din of the crashing shards
Left him deaf overnight.
He learned to paint shadows
In the dirty canvas
Of a strained mind,
Immersed in a pool of silence.
Prolific shades of despondency
Discoloring all dawns.
And the only voice that broke in
Through the brittle hull
Whispered, confiding in him:
‘Strip all the layers off,
Dig into the virgin soil,
Pull at the cord fastening
All the faint echoes
Of the Sacred Poem.'

Life did strip him to a heap
Of bleached bones
Gathered in a burlap sack
By a sulky interloper,
Dragged along unholy ground,
Bartered for moonshine.
Then and only then,
Emptying the cup
Of overflowing self-pride,
He began to hear echoes alright,
Wild dogs encroaching on
Suburban sprawls
That hounded him through
Viscous alleyways,
Assailed and gripped him
With forceful intent
And tossed him to the ground
There to lie helpless,
All cries smothered under
A pall of regretfulness,
Till he began to hear
The faint sound of distant music
And a chorus of soft voices.
All he can do now
Is strive to make out the words.