Grey

Some existential poetry, I s'pose.

Grey



Everything is so lifeless. Has it always been?

The red on the walls has dulled to grey;

The splashes of blue are now splashes of grey;

The green and the violet: grey, grey, grey.



The tick of the clock seems to have stopped;

Now it feels as though I'm stuck in time.

The stillness stays and dust gathers on the canvas,

Inspiring no sentiment.



Where's the charm in the paintings we marveled at?

If only I painted these pictures with blood...

They'd come to life.