colours ...

she
was the light to every eye
innocent colours fed her sky
deep every soul still wonders why they needed purity to die
I live inside her beauty rare
and in her death
depth of despair
that all have lost
and few yet care
that life's illusions brought us here ...

the phoenix loves the turtle dove,
arises truth
for it's above
and death condemns the mortal earth
to love that's true
in its rebirth
the few who know
are those who care
life's not for nothing
-naked, bare,
we raped ourselves of all that's fair,
we'll learn from this
... become aware

reference:
THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE
by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE :
[the poem that marked complete change of his life] -

Let the bird of loudest lay on the sole Arabian tree
herald sad
and trumpet be
- to whose sound chaste wings obey...
but thou
shrieking harbinger,
foul precurrer of the fiend,
augur of the fever's end,
to this troop come thou not near...

from this session interdict
every fowl of tyrant wing
-save the eagle, feather'd king-
keep the obsequy so strict, let the priest in surplice white
... that defunctive music can be the death-divining swan
lest the requiem
lack his right.

... and thou, treble-dated crow,
that
thy sable gender mak'st
with the breath thou giv'st and tak'st
-'mongst our mourners shalt thou go...
here the anthem doth commence:
love and constancy is dead
Phoenix and the turtle fled in a mutual flame from hence...

So they loved
as love in twain had the essence
but in one
two distincts
division none
number
there
in love
was slain...
Hearts remote, yet not asunder...
distance, and no space was seen twixt the turtle and his queen
-but in them
it were a wonder...

So between them
love did shine,
that the turtle saw his right
flaming in the phoenix' sight
either was the other's 'mine'...
property was thus appalled that the self was not the same
- single nature's double name,
neither 'two' nor 'one' was called.

Reason, in itself confounded, saw division grow together;
to themselves yet either neither
simple were so well compounded that it cried:
How true a twain seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason,
reason none
if what parts can so remain...

Whereupon it made this threne
to the phoenix and the dove,
co-supremes and stars of love as chorus to their tragic scene:

BEAUTY, truth, and rarity, grace in all simplicity,
here enclosed in cinders lie...
death is now the phoenix' nest
-and the turtle's loyal breast to eternity doth rest,
leaving no posterity:
'twas not their infirmity, it was married chastity!

Truth may seem but cannot be...
beauty brag but 'tis not she...
truth and beauty buried be.
- to this urn let those repair that are either true or fair
for these dead birds
sigh
a prayer...