The White Bench
I sit and watch obstinately,
The colors of this world.
For they remind me of how mundanely,
I am white and inert.
My presence here refrains me,
From being beyond object.
Adorned with the touch of living,
Is when I know I am adept.
It’s the white of me that resonates
With the loneliness inside them.
It’s the calm in me that ensues,
The storms inside them.
They rest, they think, they weep,
They smile, they laugh, they sleep.
For they know I can hold all secrets,
The secrets that no one can keep.