Color blind

Being alive isnt breathing.
But being able to feel breath on skin.
And the cold push of the wind.

Not breathing but taking in the fragrance.
Of saffron at your homes entrance.
Or your parents scent in an embrace.

Living is seeing more than the path.
But the colors of flowers and art.
Painted on the sky and earth.

But we are color blind and tone deaf.
Our minds so worried theres' nothing left.
To hear lifes song and swim loves waves.
Before our requiem calls us to feel our graves.