Colours And Sounds Poem by Rylan Ollivier

What is it about a name? Why are they standing
next to me at its utterance?
Such a heavy heart would that syllable bring and
Such a light mind incur.
Queen Maab has given me an audience, i have cut
the enemy's throat, i have received my payment
and she has danced on my lips as i have gone mad.
A synthetic passion continues to be the window at which
the sun will often shine, giving the prisoner one more
hour of hope.

What is it about a color, that the sun cannot produce?
The mimicked shades, the borrowed hues that tickle
the eyes and throat.
The passionate red will never be alone, will never disperse,
and i might see it, i might hear it, but if it is to be real,
If i shall daily feel the sting of that opus, if sirius will
descend from its heavenly peak to reveal itself before
these eyes, let the tips of these fingers know that heat.