Snow White

My ungrateful friends, would be foes — colourful in their exaggerated

complexions, see my silence in muted shades of white

These shades of white they conjure from some factious disorder, of

an enigma riddle d in mystery— off in colour, shadow

my grey’s, with the ghosted white seen only in the vibrancy

of the lights perception of purity

My white chipped, I touch up with the brushstrokes of my daily run, to

see beyond the colours of my life

The colours that cast my shadow to dormant exile, line the filagree lace,

of my hidden petticoat

A shock of crimson resounds on a bloodcurdling scream, the

ungrateful pale in comparison

The modesty of white, the base of all colours,

humbles itself not to the exaggerated blasé of world weary tinted effrontery, but

to the shadows that colour my life with the grateful hue’s of hopes

everlasting dash to bleed into the grey —

the grey, like the strand of hair I have neither the power to turn black or white —

but can line golden silence with silvered speech

I mute my colours, my shadow falls upon the surface of my folio,

my stylographe shades it in tints that threaten to darken the doors

of the ungrateful with the exaggerated,

but deadly silence of snow white, my silence my flamboyant rebuttal.

Copyright ©. R Tsambounieri Talarantas. Jan 6, 2020. All Rights Reserved.