Chroma

It is a sad thing when Nature's beauty,
Which was made for human eyes to gaze upon in amazement,
To hold in reverence and to preserve eternally,
No longer holds any meaning whatsoever.
Wherever His hand touches, the rose is meant to spring forth,
To bloom out and to touch our hearts,
Though the crimson petals only remind me of the death of the life fluid. 
The pond was fated to mystify us with its liquid glory,
But I only see a source of replenishment for my dry throat.
Emerald forests jump out and dive into our minds.
Their beauty wades through all of our insecurities,
And swims into the deepest pools of thought.
But in mine own, no thought really exists.
The skies fall and embrace our beings,
Scratching gently with the fingertips.
But my heart and mind remain numb to their touch.
At sunset, the sun presses down on our bodies.
It grinds into us; its heat is overwhelming.
Though my soul carefully extinguishes it...

We were born into wells of vibrant fortune.
Some grow into golden knights,
While others grace the land in purple royalty.
But I,
I landed in a puddle of black and white.