Hannah Raphael

8/30/04

Per. B-7

"Singing"
I hear the colors singing.
Some sing of the morning, silver mist on a blue breeze.
Some like the unforgiving sun, red and orange bursts of flame.
The colors sing to me,
soft lavender and vibrant rainbows,
like children playing, a cacophony of magenta, green, yellows and purples.
And he beads sing,
Not as colors do, their song being a rushing river,
but, a stream winding its way through a dappled wood.
The song they sing is calm.
A peacefully sleeping child, full of its own innocence,
or the silent hills shrouded in wreaths of mist and fog.
But here are those that sing louder than the rest,
one like the shock of lightning against the black of a stormy sky.
These beads are the ones that jump out at you,
a tree on a stark, windswept mountaintop, an oasis in the desert.
These are the ones whose songs are more forceful, the most alluring,
but no always the most sincere.