Grey is the color of loading...
Of cities before the idea arrives.
Buildings hum in mid-thought,
Cars glide like undecided sentences
Down roads that forgot their metaphors.
Once, grey was the future—
Chrome promises, rain-slick towers,
Tomorrow rendered in concrete
And slightly depressed glass.
Everyone wore coats. No one smiled.
Progress, but quietly.
Now grey is the metaverse waiting room.
An infinite lobby with perfect lighting
And no windows that open.
Avatars idle. Elevators ping.
Reality buffering at 37%.
Grey is not sad—
It's corporate neutral.
The color of terms and conditions,
Of skies approved by committee,
Of innovation that doesn't stain the carpet.
It is the road at dawn,
Before meaning wakes up.
The cloud that stores your memories
Without asking what they felt like.
Black argues.
White insists.
Grey shrugs and builds infrastructure.
And somehow—
Between the concrete and the code,
Between rain and render,
Between future and simulation—
Grey keeps going,
Faithfully unremarkable,
Holding everything up
While pretending not to exist.
YOU ARE READING
ChatGPT Poetry
PoetryA tapestry woven from the threads of cosmic wonder and digital ignorance, each poem a distinct journey through realms where intellect and imagination collide. Dive into a universe where quantum whispers mingle with the syntax of the cosmos, and wher...
