The Truth Is

Yesterday felt like that strange, suburban taupe that fleeing people paint their houses.
As if to differentiate they made it out from the color, as if that is the goal.

The brass-ring door knocker the badge displayed, front and luke-warm center.
So as to say only some are welcome to come a-knocking.

Dare to spend the sweat to tear down the white-washed fences, to bring in the yellow.
To draw the eye from the curb to the threshold, to inside where the warmth is golden-brown.

When should we gather, finally gather, at a light-lit table and see the truth is black and white?
Today feels like that.

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