Motley of my Prose

What's this strange feeling?

I spared a minute or two

went into depths of my being

to look for what my feelings brew? 

What is it an old old pain 

which came back as a guest

or is it a new one fraught in vain

whatever it is it feels unrest 

If I were to watch all I feel

through the prism of life

waiting for colours to reveal

analyse and reflect all the strife

there was fiery Red when angry

a pleasant Purple when in love

Yellow when mellow and swanky

Green when abundantly happy above

then there are colours I cant define

black and whites are easy to chime

greys which hound me even in my dreams

subtle paths of invisibility are dusky browns 

while I wanted Rainbow colours

which dont spill the lines 

symmetrically beautiful like flowers

to swing and dance on those entwines 

I was offered a left over palette

some colours painted faded memories

and few dreams of future gamut

now a mix of unidentifiable chaos

that strange feeling

was one such motley of my prose 

should I let it dry without dealing?

or add colours to bring alive a masterpiece?