They all seem to be their different ways.
Peeling back the layer of the rose
Red, then pink, and finally the center.
The center is the boldest of white.
Language unfolding before him.
But, he set his limits
Marking the way of his journey.
Gray races by--pauses for a moment
Gone as quick as it came.
Sun setting down--light reaching out.
Just for a moment.
"What do you do?"
Then judgement is passed.
Justify what he is?
Or just, is he?
Red, then gray, pink...