The Mystery of Color
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
A color’s meaning is not something priests
Can understand, especially if they
Are Jesuits trained up to gorge a feast
Of Roman Catholic thought or if they pray
Like Benedictine educated minds.
Who understands translucent yellow’s soul,
Or infrared that comes in light through blinds,
Or who could fathom meaning from the pole,
Its darkest blue beneath Antarctic skies?
No prophet can explain a black light chant.
An ultraviolet hymn cheats holy eyes.
Perhaps a voodoo priestess in her rant
Might get a glimpse of revelation, red
In force, but it would disappear or shred.