Colour

Colour is labelled.
Colour is separated.
Cans of it lay motionless on shelves
Waiting,
Just waiting
For the person painting a masterpiece.

Colour hates separation.
It loathes clarity.
It despises boundary.
Straight lines on canvas drip into each other
Yellow paint caressing and melting into red.
Sick of being apart.
Sick of being unable to touch.
They meld together as one
Swirling
Entwined.
Until, together
They spawn droplets of bold orange.

Colour is nosey, friendly.
It wants to be everywhere-
No.
Forget that.
It is everywhere.
Even within its probation officers
The Almighty Shades,
With the undeniable power
Of either bleaching or covering.
But colour abides by shade.
Without it, there is no different tone.
Colour becomes stiff
Inflexible.
And everyone knows
Colour is meant to be free.