Blackness You can make yellow paint, Out of blue and green. You can make purple paint, Out of red and blue. You can make green paint, Out of yellow and blue. You can make a great orange paint, Out of a simple yellow and red. But what makes black, This deepening colour? The colour we see when the lights go out, When we look at our shadows, And when we see our dilated pupils. Is it grey and deep red? Or midnight blue and a dark shade of green? Could it be, A sandy yellow, and a purple? I could not say, That I know for sure. This colour is a mystery, One that causes such misery. It is not as bright as a white, But not quite as calming as an ocean blue. It is not illuminating, Unlike the vibrant oranges and reds that create beautiful sunsets. It is just blackness. Dull and silent, Mysterious and silent. Eery and suspencious, Cold, harsh and frightening.