Seeing the real true color is not always easy

For so many hues are assumed in ways breezy

We get used to certain images after awhile 

So we do accept imperfection by the mile



And this stunts our ability to see beyond

The moire of days which lasted too long

For the colors have mingled with the loss

Equal to the resolution we made to toss



And now there is a hunger in our heart

Amidst a hot burning ignited by fine art

But the colors we have chosen to accept

We are now merged with, by our neglect 



For we have showed a side of ourselves

Which tipped us away from equal scales 

And now the part on side weighed down

Is smarting from the sad act of a clown ...



- Tristram



Christopher W. Thomas

1:10am Monday 1/12/98