Black...

[bloodsong1]

Black is the absence of color, absorbing all light.

Black is the cold emptyness of space you travel through to reach that point of light that may have a habitable planet.

Black is a collapsed star, feeding on everything that comes near it.

Black is Torg's heart, complete with creamy goodness.

Black is power, a blending of all colors into one.

Black is a dominant genetic trait, giving hair, eyes and skin its special shade.

Black is a Labrador, a Rottweiler, a Daucshend, a cat.

Black is evil, for without light there cannot be illumination.

Black is good, because it can reveal that which we are afraid to see.

Black is shadows, cast by things and hidden in by others.

Black is the Devil, or his minions, or perhaps simply the emptiness in someone.

Black is depression, guilt, sadness, grief and rage.

Black is electrical tape, various cords and display signs.

Black is ink seeping out of a pen.

Black is death, the grave, the inside of a tomb.

Black is peaceful, quiet, the waiting for the next life.

Black is behind closed eyelids, under the bed, in the closet.

Black is the color of blood when the liver is damaged.

Black is oil, coal, wood burnt but not ashy, a doused candle wick, charcoal.

Black is the depths of the ocean, the innards of a cave.

Black is everything and nothing.

Black is what I feel right now, a velvety, comforting black.

What is black?