Ding dong

The alarm bell.
Did you sleep well
did your dreams have pictures coloured in and was the crayon that you took from out of the crayon tin, called me,
did you see me smile
feel me touch you
was the crayon colour blue?

Was the night a colour of its own
did we groan or were we silent at the midnight chime
did we colour one more time?

If I’m in your dreams,you’re in mine
let’s colour one more time before the morning breaks the night and tomorrow we can watch the colours run as we too run into the night again,into the fun again
and in the crayon box where no locks are set
we’ll get our pictures filled with colours, until all time is stilled and then it will not matter any more,that our colourings lay scattered,
for the floor will be our painting book
and all it takes,or all it took
was the empty page to set a stage for hues to fuse into our hearts
and this is how the colour starts.

At six past six
I forget about the colours and the pics and dash to make the train for six fifteen
and entering once again into the dream,I wonder why it seems so clear,the colours that we hold,hold dear to us,
and such a fuss
about the way we make the crayons that we take and break along the way.
It’s all a day of finding out what colours we like and what crayons are all about and why shout?
A silent glance,another chance,a crayon tin,a colouring in and off we go again.


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