Grey is a smudge of lead

On your thumb;

Letters faint, blurred, unread.

It is a storm

Ready to cry,

It is a cloud crawling

On a blue sky.

Hands of dust, hands of sorrow,

Relentless shadow

Unwilling to set you free.

Grey is unpredictable –

Words of wisdom,

Groans of grief,

Sighs of relief.

Grey is ashes,

Grey is lies,

And memories hidden

Or in disguise.

Nostalgia.

Glitter lost, rotten hay,

Or chicken soup on a winter day.

But grey is a twinkling light

On a canvas of black.

It is the hope of laughing puddles,

And kisses goodnight.

It is that haunting pit

Deep in your chest.

And yet you smile,

You smile at little sprouts

Embracing a cold breeze.

Grey is a silver lining

That’s been stained.

An unsettled promise,

Neither black nor white;

Not ideal for either,

Yet the marriage of dark and light.

By: Emily S.