Poetry By Eclipse (Poetry Book One)

💜43.) Grey Paint💜

Everyone I've ever known,
are all oh so sensitive,
maybe it's a human trait,
at least they're not sociopathic,
from every inch to every bone,
a forgotten offered incentive,
but it's every human's fate,
at least they're not psychotic.

To burst a bubble of contained lava,
you didn't know they had.
To break the ice of maintained water,
they didn't know they held.

I hold out my palette and my brush,
as they all walk closer, they hush.
"There are so many of them," I say.
"Still, I choose to paint them all a shade of grey."

"Why?" The golden one asks, as I look down at his tiny self,
"Thy? - You ask why? - They all deserve to feel their grey self! They'd feel better than any wizard, pixie or elf!"

"Won't they loath it?" It asks as I smile.
"Loath is too strong a word! And no! They shall love it instead! I shall start with their heads!"
I reply, walking ahead a mile.
Just to get to them all.
For them to watch my grey paint drip and fall.
Oh how some of them were ever so tall.

"Reach! You can!" Yelled the little golden ornament.
"Help me! You can!" I answered, as they assisted me to this tournament.

In which I competed. Against no one but difficulty itself.
I painted them all, it took a while, but I did so, myself!

"Now they are grey!"
Yelled the gold orb.
"Indeed, hooray!"
I yell. "Now all that's left is for them to absorb!"

"Say, absorb what?" It asks.
"The new coat of paint, emotion, state. Such devotion!" I mask.

"Lovely, is it not? This state of nothingness."
"Why, yes. It is certainly a nice change. The loneliness."

"What?!" It yells.
"I cannot!" I answer.
"But you have already painted them all! YOU CAN, SURELY!"
"No, gold whisper. They are not ready. Not even one. They now have to dry, even prematurely."

"What will you do while you wait?"
It asks.
"That answer is simple, I shall recuperate."
But the tasks.

Just like the paint,
undiminished,
all lives still here
remain unfinished.