Gray

Gray



If I could paint a picture of the story of my life,

It would be dull and gray and dark and jagged.

The outline would be there—stark and visible contrast,

The framework of something else entirely different.

What I thought and what I hoped are lost in gray sameness

Faded into the background like lost idealism.

The knife-edge of anger remains, a dimly glowing red ember.

Near to gone out as the scarlet is slowly covered in gray.

Like a black-and-white photograph mildewed with age,

In the end the leaden oneness will be all that remains.