morning lamp posts

swimming on the edges of a rippling ocean,
dabbling in and out, testing the depth, the temperature, the feeling -
orange repeats every night, climbing down from the colour-morphing sky after a day’s work
and comes back every morning to relieve the lamp posts;
finally allowing them to burn out their flame.
like a heartbeat it’s continuous, never missing a day to greet the unsuspecting early riser who is:
late for their airplane. late for the birth of their child. late for the death of a friend.
on days it shows ever so slightly, being blurred by the soft covers of clouds,
it renovates into a colour so different from the one dripping into the night.
orange leaks into a supple shade of yellow
bouncing off the walls and windows and cars,
reflecting so brightly, eyes squint in order to see it.
on days hot like fresh tea, orange is overlooked and deep blue becomes the apple of everyone’s eye.
orange is unnoticed but caring, ignored but gentle, and disregarded but accepting.
it’s theory defeats all other colours and stands strong, respected, and proud.
it glows deep into the water, becoming the heart of sea.