Providing your own colors.

I walk outside after class

To find a yellow light shining

On the piazza.

It is not a happy yellow,

Not a bright yellow,

But a dim one.

Musty,

Mixing with today’s rain clouds

To highlight Firenze’s

Every shade of beige.

You’d think that a city such as this-

One that over the years has been

Home to some of the world’s most important artists-

Would have been constructed with

More colorful materials.

But there is only beige.

You have to provide your own colors, here.

Perhaps that is why the artists came.

I, however, am no artist,

And thus I must provide my

Colors more figuratively.

Whenever I attempt an internal harmony,

Whenever I manage to make a space for myself,

When I successfully make myself fit,

There is blue in the calm that comes from it.

For my greens, I look into my head,

For it is a sort of spring time there.

Ideas are blooming,

Focus is growing,

Passions are rejuvenating.

And I’m beginning to feel mentally wealthy.

I find my reds-

Perhaps not unexpectedly-

In wine.

I don’t think the color symbolism or metaphors

Are really necessary, here.

You know I’m referring to passion

And to love,

To desire and to (liquid) courage.

Drink a glass and write your own metaphor.

(Drink a bottle and write your own poem).

You’d think that a city such as this-

One that over the years has been

Home to some of the world’s most important artists-

Would have been constructed with

More colorful materials.

But there is only beige.

You have to provide your own colors, here.

And I am determined to go home an artist.