Perfect Contrast

A poem about things that cannot go together.

Black and white

Obsidian and light

held together

at twilight.

Yellow and blue

Through and through

to perfect weather

and a fist fight.

Standing on the edge of time

you'll never know what is sublime

for each and every day we spend

brings us closer to

some unwitting end.

And sitting down

for one minute more,

makes us know,

what life is for,

but time is not our friend.

Black and white

Green and red

Watch them close

or we'll end up dead

Yellows and purples

blacks and grays

you'll never find out

if the colour stays the same.

But I'm just standing here

by the edge of time

skipping stones

in your reason and rhyme

for a bit.

I see the sky

clear as day,

but at the same time

it's gone away

and it's black.

In contrast to my contrast

is conformity and not

In cacophony and euphony

the blacks and whites get lost.

In contrast with all that mind

is another thing I'm sure,

but in such perfect contrast

understanding is not the cure.

Great whirling seas of black and gold

magenta streaks the sky

and yet I lay asleep in bed,

but still I am so high.

Ah yes... and yet I am

so very,

very

high.