The colour yellow is in the past

The colour green fades into the background

The sound of distant yearning

Burning the acid in the stomach

Like heat from a paint stripper

Taking away the character of walls

False dawns are nothing new

To find a route through sadness

A well-worn path

Discovered round the back of a private property

A copy of the deeds

Reveals a gateway to peace

Though discarded woodland

Desert and quicksand

The latter a reprimand

To disturb the nerves

That tangle and pull

The wool over the eyes

A disguise to distract from the prize

Of happiness