the isms in a prism

all the isms in a prism,

as the light that never lies in passing.

yet, I only see it flat screen facing me.

cast upon surfaces of other circumstances,

where inferences and moods are dynamically altered.

surely I get a sense of shape,

but I only live for that white light reflected,

even if it is faceless colorific staring back.

light like that in bright colors reflected? 

I have no words for that.

I am immediately introspective to receive.

some inner sympathy plays energetically,

if given a rainbow of choice.

my eyes have immediacy's response

and go to that which deeply attracts me.

someplace within, drinks through my eyes.

not articulating what's out there by sight,

but absorbing that which is offered, taken in.

an etheric balance is regained.

something more precious than sanity, 

as if a dimension added to awareness

that does not seek language, cognition, 

or otherwise outward expression.

a subtle field expansion occurs.

I become more environmental 

than just self, existent.

as if in a nether world, 

where light responds to light. 

to the uppermost, automagically,

is-ness is the chalice, 

drunk of ongoingness.

where fluid is never about the stance

and always about the is presenting.

color is that broadway show

that stages itself in passing.

I would continue to drink 

until I am a reflection thereof,

as melodies that ride in light

in songs that have no chorus to learn.

for color, as expressed, is a human trait,

as in the eye of the beholder.

for that which calls me out,

is to honor the essence within me.

the spectrum allows me intimate entry,

as the elixir that draws me into my fullness.

and yet,

quite disguised,

I claim it to be out there.

and I give it a name 

as if only as a color . . .