by Nick Gisburne
We’re not supposed to dream in black and white.
I never did, until I met a man.
He whispered from the corner of my sight,
A mystic, born before the world began.
If I would drain the colours from my head,
And mix them in a wish, as one, for him,
He’d show me how to walk among the dead,
A miracle, however grey or grim.
I took the solemn stranger at his word,
And gave him all the colours of my mind.
His laughter was the only thing I heard
Before I felt his magic make me blind.
Although the mystic never spoke a lie,
To wander with the dead I had to die.
