The Infinity Color
The dream is on again
So vivid in essence
So luscious as air is sucked in
The primary colors just as plain
The secondary colors that accentuate
The name within the dream
But then again, a name that is unknown
I take heed the name
Of the dream that secludes
Itself behind the only tree
Without a name and with
One color, an unknown color
It is as if a mixture of white
As clear as the nonexistence
And the grey as the weeping clouds
And the black as the lonesome death
The tree has an infinite color
The name embraces it, so immobile
I exert the word, “Rise!” and so
The name rises, like a horse with wings
It is not Pegasus or its relative
But much more with a name
The name moves away from the
Tree of infinite color, the essence
Of its name dissipates, and it is now nameless
Only with contour lines as if remnants
Of its imaginary existence
The nameless remnants embrace
The infinite color, and so it is with a name
A name that is still unknown
The name secludes itself again
A fine name it is, as long as it
Embraces the infinity color
I glide away from the tree
With its name cuddling behind
I open my eyes and take heed of reality
A reality with primaries and secondaries
A reality of finite realities, so dull
Yet so alive as opposed to lunacy
The only essence of dependency
On the infinity color of the tree.
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