Grey, grey, charcoal and black,
leather, soot and a dirty mat.
Dust in corners on the floor,
grey, grey, I don’t care anymore.
Black night sky with a thousand stars,
grey, grey beats my empty heart.
Grimy, degenerate, used and thrown out
black from within raises scaly snout.
Grey, grey, dead moss on stone,
silent reproach from a telephone.
Mold on food and mold on bread,
grey, grey is a colour dead.
This came to me on my morning walk, looking at a world where every day takes us a day closer to winter darkness. The funny thing is that when I turned to my trusty Pinterest.com account for a suitable image to illustrate, none of the more than 1000 images I have collected there for poetic inspiration held enough grime and grit for this. In fact, I couldn’t find a single image that didn’t hold at least a little beautiful hope in it… Maybe I’m nowhere near as dark as I sometimes see myself?