OF YOUR COLOUR by Nick Curnow

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I thought… I thought it would feel different.
I mean, I’m here now but who is looking at me?
At me? I’ve never dreamt I could be so resilient,
But… I wanted them to look at me.

He seems happy. He seems
Thrilled. How did it feel for him?
For him? But how did it feel?
Does he want me to look at him…?

We have lost something more than we expected
A King or a pauper would perhaps have felt
the same. I wanted greatness for him. He prated
That he wanted a name for the hand he’d been dealt.

The colour of that hand has changed
Mine never will be. It is stained.