Green are our bonds,
a billion shades and hues
like leaves, to mirror
the nuances of our
intertwining lives, our
loves beyond counting.
Green is our migration,
the necessary restlessness
we carry within, to keep us
alive and moving, the
discontent that seeks
adventure, newness, learning,
but equally grows Home.
Red our banner of self
sabotage, fixing us, killing
us so brightly we call it
life, so vividly it draws
the open-mouthed stares
of others, the awe we aspire
to for achieving nothing.
Black the caves of our
oaths, our irrevocable truths,
luring us into darkness away
from the exposing glare of
doubt, questions, searching;
cosseting us in certainty,
hiddenness. Growth in
the black feeds on decay,
no green appears there.
Green the doubt, the terrible
soul-searching tensions;
the vines that scale the
trees and allow free
passage for new ideas.


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