Color

A short poem.

Falling, falling, falling.

I watch as the sky seems farther away.

For every inch I fall,

a colorful feather raises above me

And turns gray.

I like the color,

Not the colorless.

I see blue, green, deep purples, and

Blood reds float above my body,

Just within hand's reach,

Turning gray the second I get too close.

Gold, delicate pink, and soft purple,

Brown, tan, teal, and the shade of the sea,

All dancing in a fading rainbow above me.

"Goodbye, color,"

I whisper as my wings are gone

And I hit the ground.