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Clear is not a color, I suppose that one could say.
Crayola has no crayon for clear, like red or blue or gray.
Clear eludes the masses, but finds those most in need.
In times of stubborn struggle, clear is the rope that leads.
Clear is your own slate, before you make your mark on time.
Clear makes breath come sharp, sends chills straight up your spine.
Clear is premonition, knowing what is near.
The black of night, the gray of dawn, reality, and fear.
Clear is your whole world when you figure something out,
Clear are the decisions you don’t have to think about.
Clear is a goal in life, a purpose set in stone,
The people that you need around to never feel alone.
The first time you felt love, and loss, the times you felt alive
When you have no destination, but still know when you’ve arrived.
Clear is a risk you know you shouldn't take,
An ice-cold rush of knowing that your life could be at stake.
The spirit of the sky on a day that screams out spring,
The person in the mirror, the tears that losses bring.
Clear is a view, optimistic from the peak,
Clearer from the bottom, inhibitions you don’t speak.
Clear is disappointment, a failure you can taste,
A might-have-been, a used-to-be, something went to waste.
Clear is absolution, release from all that’s wrong.
Clear is the regret you come to feel for chances gone.
Clear is good, is great, is pure, clear can be all that aches.
Clear remains a crystal glass, even when it breaks.
Clear isn’t what’s ahead, but more what’s now behind.
It’s something tangible, but still all in your mind.
Clear is not considered when they teach the color wheel,
But clear is seen, is bright, is dark, is beautiful, is real.