Too many rainbows,
Claim this place,
It’s no wonder the sky prefers black;
As the color of consciousness.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

6 thoughts on “Palate”

  1. I picture rainbows as the philosophies of men, how everyone has the some different (yet so similar) view, perspective of the world. Be it philosophers, saints, scientists or world leaders, each have their own version, their own palate, by which they try to paint the world to bring out it’s and their own, aspects. It’s a noble purpose, staggering, beautiful. But the world ( sky here) has so much of it, that all these efforts feel inconsequential,binding. Thus the color black; all encompassing yet colorless ( and not quite).


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