Touching The Sky

By GhettoZombie

Sunrises on Saturday mornings
before networks had 24-hour programming
are vast memories.
Sense of light and colour from the test pattern.
Darkness eradicated at the age of four.

Infomercials with Richard Simmons
outlined weight loss fallacies.
Crash diets.
Laxatives.
Vomiting.
Starved for a sense of belonging.
Excretion of identity.
Purging taboos of the psychic and psychotic.

And then the colours of Deal-A-Meal cards
eased
that
need
to
nourish my spirit,
quenching my thirst for love and wisdom.

In the morning,
I had no rooster to wake me.
Tootie from the Home Shopping Club woke me.
Gold and emeralds
eased my chaos,
adoration adorned and fever fuelled.

Perceptions of colour
often defined through
Colecovision.
Atari.
Commodore.
Low fidelity.
Higher contrast from reruns of
The Twilight Zone.
I Love Lucy.
The Honeymooners.

I craved boldness in those 8-bit rainbows.
Skylines done injustice, 16 colours aren’t enough.
Impossible to fill in a 24-hour day with such restrictions.

I observe the sky through filters,
none of which distort reality,
but simply accentuate the vividness of heaven.

Often, I reminisce of 1985,
the first time I had a numerical concept of a year.
Four years after my birth.
Thirty years prior to my father’s passing.

These days,
My eyes are hexadecimal algorithms
Pantone has yet to develop.
and my vision is HDMI.
Pupils are my perspective.
Darkness, the onyx observation
of loneliness and loss.
My insatiable need to find a place
within this infinite spectrum.
My unfulfilled desire to belong.

The Wheel of Fortune spins
Luck is pressed.
Big money.
Big money.
Big bucks.
Big bucks.
No whammies.
No whammies.
No whammies.
No whammies.
STOP!!!

Pink hearts.
Orange stars.
Yellow moons.
Green clovers.
Blue diamonds.
Purple horseshoes.
Red balloons.
Pots of gold.
Rainbows.
Trees.
Blue moons.
Leprechaun hats.
Gold coins.
Shooting stars.
Crystal balls.
Hourglasses.
Keys.

These are the talismans of morning magic.
Ambrosia of oats and marshmallows soaked in milk.
But my lucky charms are my rods and cones.
They allow me to admire these radiant symbols.

All my photos evolved from mud.
This new set of colours is presently paradise.
My heaven.
My sky.
My ether.

Perhaps, 
it demonstrates the incorporation of colour
destined to reach out.

Perhaps,
it’s friendlier
than the earth upon which I stand.

Perhaps,
I crave that which is limitless,
for skies are not ceilings.

The
outside
world
is
unconfined.

Lately,
my aura
showcases
skylines.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2015 GhettoZombie
Published on Friday, December 25, 2015.     Filed under: "Poetry"
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Comments on "Touching The Sky"

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  • Nimue44 On Thursday, March 3, 2016, Nimue44 (367)By person wrote:

    This... is very personal. This brilliant, musical, raw and sincere glimpse to your life was fascinating to read. Your colors, talismans, prophecies, your skylines, all through a spyglass built from wisdom. Congrats.

  • TropicalSnowstorm On Monday, December 28, 2015, TropicalSnowstorm (1715)By person wrote:

    Lots of great lines in this one, but my favorite has to be, "Skylines done injustice, 16 colours aren’t enough. Impossible to fill in a 24-hour day with such restrictions. I observe the sky through filters, none of which distort reality, but simply accentuate the vividness of heaven." Experience, belonging, memories filtered through intermediaries, which separate from the gloriously full spectrumed reality. This is very well constructed! Ciao, T/S Scholar

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