The Invisible Rainbow

There are things beyond sight that I suddenly see,

I’ll show you—dear reader—if you’d just come with me.

I’m sure you know colors, like red, green, or blue,

But I see something else; a rainbow that’s new.

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This sight I will show, but please keep in mind,

a man with mere eyes cannot see for the blind.

The translation’s imperfect, or shallow at worst,

but I hope it’s enough. We’ll start with the first:

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It's between brown and white, but off to the side.

Not a mix of the two, but both are implied.

If colors were letters, from point A to Z,

It's not on the scale: it's a two or a three.

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The color brings warmth, and it burns really deep.

It's underneath love; on the dark edge of sleep.

It's sun-rays in sand on a hot summer's day;

it's there when you're told it all be okay.

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At the bottom of hate, and the back of despair,

no shades of this color are ever found there.

Its taste is so soft; nostalgic, yet faint...

It's calm, it's peaceful; inspiring, quaint.

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If my special sight you could suddenly gain,

oh, you would know what I fail to explain.

If colors were a woman, this shade is her kiss...

I've no word to describe it... I'll just call it *bliss.*

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Up next is a color that’s felt with the heart,

think purple meets black for a sensible start.

Add a sparkle of whimsy, with delight hiding under:

you’ve arrived to the shade that I’ll henceforth call *wonder*.

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When a man yearns to learn, it’s the spark in his eye,

and it permeates through the vast twinkling night sky.

As fireworks dazzle in cacophonous thunder,

it’s the awe looking up that shines bright with hot *wonder*.

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When you and a lover lock eyes as you’re one;

when you try something new, doing things not yet done;

when composers hear songs that don’t yet exist;

the deep shades of *wonder* can never be missed.

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It’s found in surprise, curiosity too,

and fear or respect for things greater than you.

It's so hard to show with just lyric and word…

Oh, I don’t know… I’ll just move to the third.

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It’s vast and it’s deep and the taste is quite sweet,

yet the front edge is bright and it stings like cold sleet.

It’s the color of throbs in the wake of heartbreak;

it’s the sad tears at night that might keep you awake.

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When orchestral swells make your hairs stand on end;

when you hear of the death of a long-valued friend;

It’s a soldier that’s killed while he’s doing his duty…

*Trist* stands for sadness, yet also for beauty.

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You stand on a beach as a wave surges in,

yet the water is gentle, feels soft to the skin.

Let turmoil, anguish, and sentiment join,

for sadness and beauty, mere sides of *trist*’s coin.


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Through absence or strife, the loss of a brother,

we’ve all felt this shade in one form or another.

It’s clammy, yet empty, yet still somehow full;

It’s powerful, moving: it’s seen with the soul.

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The last one I’ll teach is a faded pastel,

with warm overtones and an old, dusty smell.

Think deep blue and brown with a hint of dark red,

while still none of these; off the scale, like I said.

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The shade I’ll call *home* has a comfortable air,

It sits back and rests in an indented chair.

It’s the color of quiet, “content” in a shade;

when surrounded by *home* one cannot be afraid.

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It’s the color of yawning when pulled by a stretch,

satisfaction in habit, like the twelfth round of fetch.

When you wake up at night with your love at your side,

those feelings are always with *home* deeply dyed.

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It’s cool to the touch, but glows as an ember,

as calm as a mountainside town in December.

A color so peaceful is hard to ignore…

I pray that all people have felt it before.

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And that—my dear friends—is not the last shade,

but the rest *you* must find, and without my aid.

Look at this world with a new set of eyes...

the hues you may see I do hope will surprise.