She ripped the pink horse I'd colored
when I was five.
Said there's no such thing.
All horses are black or brown,
look at reality!
Still, I see calmness in their gentle eyes
connecting to mine, beaming soothing comfort,
complete acceptance of virtues and flaws
speckled in me.
I recognize horses' strength of passion red,
tempered by whiteness of non-violent waves,
their sensitivity to other lives,
their sweetness, their quiet innocence
making them appear shy.
Sometimes they give so much,
forget they're horses,
worthy of their own love,
enmeshed with riders
who disregard their pain,
they run naively, willingly
towards unknown plains.
I know horses are of different colors,
but I can't help but see them
through a tinted lens,
the way many people look at me
and see me mostly
as rosy pink.
(We're prompted today to write about colors at Dverse Poets.. I chose my favorite color and looked up its attributes at empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com)