There once was a boy whose vision was impaired

For not a color did he see despite all his prayers .  

He lived for the tales of vibrant shades

Whispered in the night or an hour of the day .  

‘What is color?’ The boy would ask his old friend

Hoping he might have the power to mend

The boy’s broken sight if he lent him his eyes

But the man only frowned and let out a sigh . 

‘Black is everything that everything is not

It is shadows and hatred , and the greed of want . 

It is the stillness of death and the fear of life

The grief of loss and the sting of a bite . 

Black is the absence of love and is what love can do

Black can be seen , yes , but it can be felt , too . 

Always remember should you find yourself wishing

That colors are feelings — and those you aren’t missing.’

From then on it was a sort game for the pair

The boy would inquire and the man would share .

‘Yellow is the sun,’ he said one summer day

‘Yellow is warmth and the swells of the bay .

It is petals beneath your hands and the breeze on your face 

It rivals the elation of winning a race.’

‘And green?’ The boy craved as one did for wealth

He was not satisfied till he saw for himself .

‘Green is the infancy of the growing world

The scent of fresh pollen and of buds unfurled . 

Green is envy; it is delicate and strong

Easily attained , unavoidable and wrong.’

But the boy soon found despite the explanations

He still saw no hues which brought more frustration . 

He knew in his heart that he didn’t belong

So , he went on his way with a farewell and song .  

In the citadel at last, the journey uneventful

He watched the citizens and was somewhat resentful .  

Until a faithful moment when he bumped into another

And suddenly , like magic , he could see color . 

It was a brilliant blue (Azure to be exact)

It was trickle of a stream and a purr of a cat . 

It was the chill of the falls and the vastness of sky

The emptiness of heart and the wisp of a sigh . 

Azure was the fury of thunder, the nip of a breeze

The singing of rainfall and the shaking of knees .

After his stumble the boy saw it all

No need for interpretations for now he could recall .

Gold was the scales and the magic in power

It was gilded chalices and hilts of fancy daggers .  

Purple was the weariness that came at the end 

Of laboring days and time spent with friends .  

Silver was in slivers of silhouetted scenes

And the tangible taste of remembering a dream .  

Brown was the aching and wistfulness for home

But also , the contentment of not feeling alone .  

Red was sunsets hidden by woods 

While camping on quests and the unlikelihood

Of friendships in glades and the sharing of laughter

For in those moments nothing else mattered . 

Pink was the sun as it streamed in as planned ,

Warm shafts rippling and quivering with a wave of the hand . 

Orange was the lands baring citric fruits

That were the ingredients in the delectable juice .  

White was the thrill of the first snow fall

And the ivory keys in the vacant great hall . 

The world was cold and barren and the absence

Of the casualties that winter filled the deafening silence .

The boy soon found that living with shades

That despite his happiness , he still saw gray . 

Gray was the murkiness of decisions and the uncertainties of life

It was the muttering of questions in the quiet of night . 

The very last color the boy ever knew

Was a dark navy (another shade of blue) . 

It was just as invigorating as his first time of awe

Yet the blue orbs were changed by all that they saw .  

Azure was still brave and love and kind

But navy belonged to a much older mind .  

Navy was the bond between two best friends

Years of memories , arguments and making amends. 

As the boy reminisced their meeting that day

Bumping into each other in warm , early May ,

His friend’s eyes dimmed as his life slipped away

And with it went colors ; leaving only gray . 

There is a man whose vision is impaired

By not what he lacks but by what he once shared . 

He lived hearing tales of brilliant hues 

And once long ago , he saw them too . 

But when he tells his story of what he once knew

Regrets aren't his words - only love and gratitude .

For he can still recall the memories of his youth

And with those come colors - the man spoke the truth .