Words are an intermedium of ideas. They are the air between the speaker
and the spoken to: the distorting refractor of the purity of an idea.
Separate symbols, they signify this or that as told by the author:, put
for purpose, probably disproportionately performing. A lot like
translucency -- losing white of light: in lieu of clarity, a slue of
colors. A mellow burgandy you see for the wine of romance, perchance a
blue for true love
Not red as blood of passion (compassion lays cooly)
Fashioning all the bright of white
Perfect purity now in light as adulteries unite
Full of flight, orange dashes, alight
Young and daring, not sparing but garish
Fading into lambent yellow once pride is embarassed
Azure endures furor:, quietly understanding hearer
Of all argent's clamor in the conqueror's mirror
And to all of or's shining, wealth mocking joy, the dearer
Vert fields feel for fairness and freedom, quite careless
And through the rainbow harness comes a myriad of light
Which seems as though of all the worldly elements imbrued
The pedestal of difference performs for sense of sight
As if kaleidoscopic harlequins from matter loosed
Knowledge, wisdom, train of thought from this may be deduced:
That though beginnings now are lost, distorted from before
That all these things have come to be so much more than they were.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Phaestian, in the year 354 AF.