The 1,2,3 primary red, yellow and blue
So fancy and pure
They come from the tube
Untouched by events
Without blemish, dilution
They jump on the paper
In strokes of delight
Thinking only them can shine as bright
Delusion, illusion, deception
I shout!
So many reds, yellows and blues
Fill the spectrum of colors in tubes
Mixes and blends bloom in shades and hues
I take any of them before you
And turn 1,2,3 to fractions, decimals, ratios, and so on
Real numbers into imaginary ones
Just then, shall my hand engage
Turning order in defiance
Standards in Great
After the prompt that is the poem’s name. 05/18/2025
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