Colors
Red.
What an intriguing color, I've always believed.
It dances playfully across the grandiose halls of royal palaces — spiraling upon the folds of velvet embroidered drapes,
And yet it slumbers, docile, within the scantiest of abodes — coating rackety doors and flimsical picture frames,
It is the color of polarization. The color of extremes.
Blue.
What an infinite color, I've always believed.
It leaps boundlessly upon the endless skies — blanketing the earth in a milky, celestial umbrella,
And yet it ripples flamboyantly through the mammoth salty seas — touching faraway shores of France to Venezuela,
It is the color of colossal. The color of titanic.
Green.
What an animated color, I've always believed.
It speckles mistily amongst the vibrant, steaming rainforests — glistening off the veins of jagged, water-hungry leaves,
And yet it vibrates murkily amidst the dingy, mud-filled swamps — croaking upon slimy, venomous figures who leap,
It is the color of liveliness. The color of vivacity.
Colors.
What majestic beings, I've always believed.
Painting our world with diverse, rainbow shades and glistening, enigmatic sparkles.
From milky, endless skies to dingy, mud-filled swamps,
They spiral across the earth, bringing glazy animation to the landscapes around us.
Without them, our lives would be dreary, tedious, lackluster; without them, our world would be nothing.
