Image: Steven Bevacqua: elevator shaft: The old elevator inside Caste Green in Pasadena, California | (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

Shades of disaster I

(Condensed Version)
If a single shade
— not many, mind you, but one alone —
were to be made extinct: fade
from the spectrum, colored gone,
imagine the cost we’d have to bear —
[Censored — a worse curse impossible.]
Stranded on a missing stair
(or worse, staring with belly-turning fear
at a yawning elevator’s nightmare
shaft — a foot poised on sheer
air — suddenly beset by care)
on our ascent, as of yore,
to the blue, blue sky —
poorer than ever before
— eyes dependent on dye —
[Censored — that swear-word’s incorrigible.]
— Yea, poorer than ever:
a pale rainbow
with half-empty quiver:
each God-given arrow
no better than a dart
gone astray, lost in the void
of an unfeeling heart
— impervious to its sweet pang, unenjoyed.

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