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by: a.paige
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it isn’t black
or white.
or yellow.
or brown.
it is all of that.
it is gray.
it is pink.
and red.
and the sadness of a blue sky
on a cold winter day.
it is rich.
it is poor.
it is the comforting shade
in the scorching sun,
or the warmth of fire.
it is joy.
it is chaos.
it is the sparkle in a child’s eyes,
or the grief
behind your smile.
it is magic.
it is tragic.
creation and decay,
a cleansing rain,
or scorn.
it is birth pangs
it wakes,
and grows. and teaches.
or refuses
and walks asleep.
or plays dead.
or lies down dead.
or drops dead,
while consuming in between,
its appetite, keen.
it waxes and wanes.
it rises and falls.
a blessing and a curse.
an ebb and flow.
like the tide, this life.
