There is so much colour inside you and me,
I wonder why we keep it in.
Isn’t this grey world dying for lack of it,
like a deprived desert cracking in pain.
Why do we cringe in the corridors of conformity,
like timid little souls?
—
‘What will people think of us?’ are the shackles that bind us.
As we carry our weighted chains with earnest but fading strength along the dismal pathways we tread.
—
Routine is the rut that fear demands we tread,
while freedom beckons like a lover.
But like slaves to pretence, we say ‘We’re doing fine’.
—
Tradition keeps us toeing the line, and then -
I see the Carpenter dancing on the water. Then -
I see the Carpenter turning water into wine -
Colours flashing in His Presence, chains snapping
In His Presence.
—
There is so much colour inside you and me.
I wonder why we keep it in.
—Colour Inside, a poem by Rob Rufus
