His tears dry before they escape, never adorning his face,
A child, conceived through rape, and born in to hate,
His back against a wall that's falling, he holds all of its weight,
Seemingly 30 years old, but he's eight...they call it his fate.
Red -
The colour that warns, that covers a loved one when they're born
The colour of his whipped skin, and of the blood when it's torn
He's in trouble, trapped in a hurricane, and his mother's the storm,
Swarms of punches rain down like rubble it's sore, He's stubbornly sworn,
That he won't cry, that will make her start loving it more,
So he stumbles, as he's beat down, on to the floor,
Hatred becomes him, any love he once had, is dissolved to the core
Blue -
The colour of the bruises that line him, leaving clues to the violence,
The colour of his soul, where nothing moves....there's just silence,
His chest falls and then rises, as he remembers the assault from his tyrant,
Pushes that aside, goes to his happy place, his tropical islands,
It's just him, his wife and children, and a random dude who's called Silas,
Adventures every day....his soul's no longer blue, just the sky is,
His soul begs him to find this....but he knows it's useless to try it.
White -
The colour of a blank canvas, a new start,
The colour of the cloths that bandage his bruised heart,
As he buries his mother, he looks to his family, and friends,
He's not there 'cause he loves her, but 'cause now it's the end,
Thirty years old, he looks down at his captor, takes in her expression,
He no longer feels cold, does not want to slap her, free from obsession,
No hate remains, just sorrow and pain, as he realises what he has to do
Taking her lifeless hand, he whispers 'I forgive you, I'm not mad at you'.
And he's free.
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