Grey

The billowing curtains of grey

the comforting color of clay

of ground

of steel

of strength.

A place, a substance

where imagination can paint

any color that suits the day.

The moment.

The person.

Grey goes with everything

with everyone.

No dogma or system can tell grey

to shut the fushia up.

“Let it flourish!” grey says,

“let’s see what that pink can do!”

The rock lifts its shoulder in a little flirt

showing a bit of black, a touch of titian

under its skirt.

Just a tiny spot of yellow sun

reforms stone-cold perspective

into sparkle. Into fun.

Throw your herringbone cloak

over whatever needs disguise,

then release your palette of 64

to grace the world with style.

Or thrill your lover at his door…

As you wish!

You, saucy dish.

It’s always there for you,

that grey.

Surrender your grief

your sadness

that ache of blue that never leaves

it holds the shame, the rage, the broken,

crippled, crimson pride.

It’s fluffy and soft

And strong and dark.

When you feel insane,

it can take your rain

and escort you to the azure of hush.

The snow

the wet

the cold,

it holds you as you breathe your first

and transposes spirit to that iridescent place

of no goodbyes,

where “them” does not exist.

Only us.

Without giving it but a thought

it is the Alpha

the Omega

the Violet

the Green

the Brown

the Apricot.

The Sage.

It is as old as life itself.

After making its mistakes,

it knows.

And doesn’t care that its buttoned-up

underestimation –

just like its first, simple verse –

may leave it ignored

until we gain the wisdom

that in the grey

we are free

as long as we let others be

and are thrilled by uncommon

soul

and

creativity.