Outside the Painted Cave
Before men thought of poetry, they fell
In love with paintings on a petal’s tongue.
It started ringing in its silent bell
So utter they could almost hear it. Swung
From it came colors so much like a song
They almost gave men melody, at least
A chant and music curved across the long
Millennia (in colors first). A priest
Perhaps had inklings how the sound of hues
Might break from eyes that saw the urging flowers
Attempting to escape from reds and blues
To compositions with Tchaikovky’s powers
An eon later. Still he sensed that there
The colors were like harmonies in prayer.