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Color
He came in as a ghost,
fueled by the azoic.
No face, all in haste.
Joyous irony...
"Must be a magic trick,
let us give a toast."
Disdaining our ball,
captured in the dancehall.
Mockery of the king,
in the dawn's coming,
closure is to come...
But this mask;
where is it from?
"Seize him" rumbles the quiet abode.
First to leave is the host.
Colored encasement none to see.
Works to be had.
There was no plague...
Mere population control.
Bodies needed to fill the hole
ending of false hope.
