Monochroma

Monochroma

White
Is the shade of nothing.
Stark, bright, intruding,
And perhaps even brooding.

Grey
Are the things you see.
The shells of colors you
Can no longer detect.

Black
Is the dark. Just as scary as white.
Hiding the shades
Of everything else.

Red
Is sin. Emotional vices.
Red is the color of the day’s
Beginning and end.

Blue
Is cold. Flower petals in your hand,
Dripping with dew. That is what
We all strive for.

Yellow
Are the plastic lights.
Shining from so far above and below
Where we have yet to go.

Green
Are the plants and ripped jeans.
Mold and moss on rocks, pairing
With the street gutters.

Orange
Are the dead greens.
Shuffled cosmic cards bringing
That comforting warmth.

Purple
Are the exotic things.
That which none of us
Could ever be willed to name.

Brown
Is the rich soil.
Dirt and grime, combinations of
Soot and grit that feel relieving.

Silver
Are the mists descending.
They look a bit scary, but they
Always bring clouds.

Grey
Are those clouds to me.
The rain, the same, as it is from
You to me.

Grey
Is that rain.
Not blue, nor green,
But that fantastic grey.

Grey
Is the sky.
In all its phantasm, it never
Ceases to amaze.

Grey
Are the best shades.
Stacking with monochrome
And creeping with the bold.

Grey
Is what I am to you.
Regardless of your eyes’
Hazel hue.

Grey
Is what you are to me.
A cloud, a rain, a thing which lost
I would always sorely miss.

Grey
Is the color I want to be.
I would love to be
Such a fanciful shade.

Grey
Is the shade of nothing.
Stark, bright, intruding,
And perhaps even brooding.

Grey
Are the things you see.
The shells of shades you
Can no longer detect.

Grey
Is the dark. Just as scary as grey.
Hiding the shades
Of everything else.

Grey
Is sin. Emotional vices.
Grey is the shade of the day’s
Beginning and end.

Grey
Is cold. Flower petals in your hand,
Dripping with dew. That is what
We all strive for.

Grey
Are the plastic lights.
Shining from so far above and below
Where we have yet to go.

Grey
Are the plants and ripped jeans.
Mold and moss on rocks, pairing
With the street gutters.

Grey
Are the dead greys.
Shuffled cosmic cards bringing
That comforting warmth.

Grey
Are the exotic things.
That which none of us
Could ever be willed to name.

Grey
Is the rich soil.
Dirt and grime, combinations of
Soot and grit that feel relieving.

Grey
Are the mists descending.
They look a bit scary, but they
Always bring clouds.

Grey
Are those clouds to me.
The rain, the same, as it is from
You to me.

Grey
Is that rain.
Not grey, nor grey,
But that fantastic grey.

Grey
Is the sky.
In all its phantasm, it never
Ceases to amaze.

Grey
Are the best shades.
Stacking with monochrome
And creeping with the bold.

Grey
Is what I am to you.
Regardless of your eyes’
Grey hue.

Grey
Is what you are to me.
A cloud, a rain, a thing which lost
I would always sorely miss.

Grey
Is the shade I want to be.
I would love to be
Your grey-shaded shadow.

Grey
I would proudly wear.
For no one in particular
But you.

Grey
Is my jacket.
Which I would first
Gift to you.

Grey
Is the warmth.
Which I would gladly
Share with you.

Grey
Would be the sound.
All the wonderful music
And shaded songs.

Grey.

I want to be a shade.

Not a red,
Nor a blue,
Or a yellow.

Not green,
Not orange,
And not purple.

Grey.
Oh,
Do I
Wish to be grey.

You may sap me and take from me
The color.
If only it means you become
That much brighter.

To escape this world of vibrancy
And see everything with you.
Just to see.
See what you see.

To escape the ardor decay,
And respect the ardent grey.

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