In Prism Poem by Kevin Eaglesfield

In Prism



It didn't snow again this year.
Easy on the eye drab
And hanging damp.
I didn't mind.
I found my own colours.
They were always there,
But the plug wasn't in.
All my greys and browns
And off-whites and steely sads,
And ennui and apathy,
And weary 'if onlys'
Chug and dribble and seep
Like overused oil through
The prism I was given, but forgot.
They splinter, disintegrate,
Split and fracture,
And spread, fresh and taut,
And vibrant and shocking.
I can see every atom.
I thank God for the greys
So I recognise the colours.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Michele Hegarty 02 January 2009

So true, you need some bad, sad times to apreciate the good even more. It sounds like you came a long way in '08

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