you black and you blue,
each bold and beautiful
no matter the hue.
Each brings to the table
your own sense of pride,
yet your colors brighten
when you stand side by side
But wait. There’s a third word.
The one in the middle.
Conjunction its function,
so fit as a fiddle.
This wallflower word
behind black...before blue,
though innocuously wedged,
speaks brazenly true:
“You’re inseparably linked,
you black AND you blue,
my presence between:
proof synced through and through!
You can fuss. You can fight.
You can burn through the night,
but nothing can stop me
making one of you two.
“So listen, I beg,
not to me but each other
since deep in your color,
you’re of the same mother.
Compassion-fed courage
will lead you to see
the becoming beauties
you’re both meant to be.”
This latest “un”
of an unrest so old,
resolution of which
feels lifeless and cold,
awaits hearts and healings
and new narratives told
of a much older story:
All Love's Colors Unfold.
The what, when and how of it,
have yet to appear,
but the why and the who
seem perfectly clear:
All lives are dear.
Yes, all lives are dear.
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