Winds of Change, or The Colour of Dawn.

What is the colour of your tears? Tell me you see the light splinter and sparkle too. Tell me you, too, see the rainbow colours. Or try stopping time to notice the gleam on the edge of a teardrop as it falls onto your cold, sobbing skin.

What is in a moment? Bring me to the time you rested in a second, when you found solace in that nothing else matters. When it was you, the walls, and the stillness of your room, or bed, or cubicle, or rooftop, when you could pretend that it didn't exist, that you didn't care, that you had nothing to cry about. Or you could try.

What is an emotion, what is too much? Show me your heart in the very second the sobs start, when emotion overcomes it. Show me the battle between your muscles, or pride, or face, and the feelings within. Show me your heart as it shivers and grinds and tenses and finally, finally, exhales.

What is a mask? Take it off, take it off, my darling heart... if you can. Take the mask, kneel, and present it, and watch it shatter as my great red tears merely brush it. Then watch yourself pick the fragments up slowly, slowly, watch yourself slowly fasten each piece on the organ, watch yourself burden your shattered heart. If you can even find the mask.

How do you colour sunshine? With a brush of yellow, red, or merely gold? Tell me you colour it with the dreams and fears of last night, or spot it with the dyes of yesterday and the inks of the future; tell me you left out the morning, and that you forgot to wake up. I'll be there, I'll be there... For I colour sunshine with the dawn.