There are violent colors in my sight.
I talk not of mean or cruel but I do talk of might.
These greens and yellows, browns and reds,
could wash me over from foot to head.
The beauty is clear and their violence is noted,
the design was purposeful and purely devoted.
Grace was the aim and mercy the cause,
she rose up like the dawn and everyone saw.
The people drew close and squinted their eyes,
truly, truly, beauty had never been so high.
Yet, they walked back to their houses and settled back down,
wondering if they might, in the end, rather drown.
That’s the cost, the payment of sorts,
for accepting a beauty that is not our sport.
We rise, and we see, and feel a good bit too,
yet our minds are questioning, “What would You have us do?”
Would you have us forsake everything we have built-
our houses, our lands, our families-give up our fill?!
Nay, say many and many walk off,
let’s sit in our misery, at least we know who is boss.
Yet, a few come and a few more trickle in,
they make good on the prophecy, “The meek will finally be let in.”
So the colors rose and captured a few.
On the wings of beauty many fly off,
While far too many fear the unknown and simply scoff.