GREY MATTER
Everyone I know laments
a grey-skied day.
Depressing
is what they say.
Perhaps because
grey missiles
turn buildings to billowing
smoke. Also grey.
Sunday mornings see
grey-suited pastors
drive past men sitting
on grey pavement
with pleading
cardboard signs.
It’s bland, they say,
as if they cannot see
the merger
coexistence
black and white
in perfect balance
a show of strength.
The supple insistence
of light
on black and white
film.
The subtlety of shadow.
Everyone I know laments
a grey-skied day.
Depressing, they say.
Their eyes roll
when I insist
grey days make green.
I’m depressing too.
But there’s something they don’t know.
I love the rain
and my newborn daughter’s
grey eyes give me hope.
About the Creator
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I suppose I've become a writer so I wouldn't bore everyone to death telling them my stories. Reading them is reading. Not the same. There's rhythm. And timing and, most importantly, drama and suspense. Unless you have tremendous magnetism and an undeniable stage presence, there's no way you can engage an audience the way you can by writing your story. That's my opinion.
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