Colour is present_

Stories are to be told, good or bad, happy and sad.
The bird had a lot of untold one, allegedly mostly bad.
Acrobaticlly writers do their magic with the birds
Fumes eluding the editor and convincing de public
That this is the real magnificent product of human spirit

Witch is dubitably at least, what spirit are in consideration here?
Spirit of peace, serenity, luxury, anger, of people past, there
Are so many waves in the sea that we few and small cannot opine?
One more verse about how small we are compare to a glorious pine!

Words will be thought and then written and god wanting, read.
Once read the author prays for appreciation or at least an opinion.
Cutting a long story short, having never published, must follow the tread
Malformations malfunctioned at days cutting like razor blade and perished?

I see thunder moving the leaves, after I open my eyes close to the lightning
I feel the path enchanting my life, some effort like the saw and the pine
Men walk and children run with their Kits yellow, blue, red, and purple, cutting each other.
The pine falls to the ground and all the birds are homeless, some eaten and other catch
Color is present in the blood, the sky, the river, and the sea; I just can't see any color in me.
 Colour is present in the blood, the sky, the river, and the sea;

I just can't see any colour in me.
Cause I, me, fucking monochromatic being
Like hollow man, but not,

Just Like a shape already forgot.