Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Mr. White

Mr. White was a blank slate,
A hole in the spectrum,
In his spotless white suit and white shoes and white house
At One-Twenty-Three White Street just off Off-White Lane,
Mr. White lived a life that was crisp, starched and plain.

But behind all that white,
Back behind the white whiteness,
A breathtaking masterpiece hidden from sight.
He felt splashes of colors, bold strokes in bright hues,
He felt greens, he felt yellows, deep reds and sad blues.

Mr. White was a painting,
A rich, colorful canvas,
An intricate portrait no one ever saw.
You see, poor Mr. White, was not white, not really -
Just a canvas, hung backward, his paint to the wall.

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