The color of a cloudy sky mirrored my melancholy mood on that fateful day,
It was a keystone grey that felt as cold as my hands.
The damp sidewalk reflected the sky as we silently pray,
Another chapter coming to a close, abandoning her wedding bands.
Grey hair and grey faces litter the scene like snow on the grass,
Grey memories were once colorful and now sink to a monochrome.
Grey people from grey places with eyes of frosted glass.
And the gunmetal of my watch ticking like a metronome.
Grey should be boring, calming, and anything but brash,
But even then, my heart seemed to beat much faster.
And as I stood there in hysteria watching you return to ash,
My colors turned to a bleak grey and alabaster.
It felt like a stab to the heart and to the head,
Like you're hurdling down from up in cloud nine.
Grey is the knowledge that a loved one is dead,
And the realization that the stars no longer align.
Grey can no longer pacify a heart in mourning,
It can no longer put a mind at ease,
Because, inevitably, without a forewarning,
The once tranquil grey becomes a disease.
YOU ARE READING
The Other Side of the Sun
PoetrySometimes to see the good in things, you need to acknowledge the bad in them. Sometimes, you just need to look from another angle to have something make sense. Other times, just leave it up to nonsense. This is a collection of poems that I wrote du...
