Visible and invisible,
Divided by what we believe.
The sky seems blue,
And according to what people conceive,
The beauty of color will always hold true.
But for the boy struck down at birth,
Who is seated somewhere on that spectrum,
The comfort of color doesn’t paint the earth,
Nor does it tell him when to run.
But, really, the sky isn’t blue, in fact that’s the sun.
We don’t know that it’s not blue, but it affects everyone.
Everyone is on that spectrum, both me and you,
We’re here, like the boy, oppressed by the son.
How long the light shines I cannot say,
In fact I’m not really sure if we’ll see that day.
The day where we know if these emotions hold true,
And discover as the sun makes its way,
If there really exists a sky-bright blue.