Colors

Does it matter greatly

If we are young or old

If our eyes are a color

light or dark or brown or blue

Or if it is  our hair

That we all may loose

As we grow old with age you know

Not all may lose what grows on top

But some I guess suppose do

 

Hair fine or course

Or long and straight

The color blonde or red

Maybe tightly curled

Or could be very short

Maybe, yes, and I do suppose

Oh yes our hair could be 

A  color that is dark, dark black

 

We may came from lands

Which are unbelievably hot

Our houses could be made of mud

Those places where we live

Could be built of stuff like

Sticks, or leaves and rock

Could be of wood, even blocks of ice

From cold hard frozen snow

 

Dwellings build for living

Where we are born into life

Yes, where we grow old and die

We may live in places small

A small village with so few

Or grand cities built so tall

Where thousands mingle thru each day

With work and many other things to do

 

So after all is said and done

We can talk of hair and eyes

Of colors which do vary

As dark as each new night

Or bright as every brand new day

Our homes made of wood or rock

Of maybe snow hard as ice

Or maybe made of this earths clay

Places we do come to love

Where we feel safe and warm

 

If all these things mean

So very, very much to all, 

With eyes we all do see.

Our hair we change its color

Using ink we tattoo our skin

With strange designs which last forever

We love life just being free

 

Then why, just why I ask 

Are we filled with inner fear

This evil awful dreadful hate

Of man or woman living near

Or in places we have never been

In lands so far away

We call others names which hurt so deep

This hurt never ever goes away

 

All of this we do because

Not the color of our hair 

Not because of the color of our eyes 

Not materials we use to build our homes

No not the places where we live

It is truly just for this one thing

We deliver fear and hate

It is the color which we are born

It is the color of our skin