black ink

you could
if you wanted,
make everything wonderful.
people,
the world.
work and all that it
holds.
you could paint
all of it a sky blue,
the color of happy.
delve in
bright primary
colors,
of red or yellow.
this is what you could do,
if you wanted
to.
but no.
it's easier
to tell the story
with
the scrawl of black ink.
the hard truth,
the hard pavement with
just a flower
or two
emerging.
soft blades of grass
somehow finding their
way through
this madness we call
life.