Once upon a time rainbow colours gave birth
mimed and rhymed with my daydreams, till they faded,
washed into each of them was a shade
of not quite black nor dark, bark is the tone of mirth.
Clear white waters of the Mediterranean
turned a washed out grey, now its waves cannot lay
the bronze sparkling sand has formed into clay
my palette must be mixed again and again.
Since those self-contained colours betrayed me
an August sunset of the Aegean, it is not
the fire red of secrets dripping is too hot
I chose one royal and loyal to be.
Goya’s feverish red fears are never dead,
my colour is red, but instead: its called Blood Red.
