Passion

Every word I hear
Invites another thought that haunts
Trying to find steps
Forward

Wondering of something missing
Whether or not because
He is standing there
Waiting

Jading layers adding like a
Flower closing in the bud
Recoiling back to the
Beginning

Diamond

Futile hiding
Your rainbow hangs clear
A tragic, narrow spectrum

Just as well most have limited sight
Your monochrome seems bright, but the few frequencies
Only grow intense in burning the skyline, but not more melodious

Still, there are rare diamonds
Reflecting white light, glimpses of colour you have
Never seen, nor fathomed, where an opportunity is, you should grasp it

Their origin, their make, their grandiose displays,
Can never mask their impressive kindness, patience and generosity
Nor can any accessory

We may try to be a jewel, or tread soft to let them pass
But one cannot deny nor pretend
Whether they are made of diamond or of glass