The Grays

The Grays

The grays are worse than the blues…
At least you can write a song
about the rich cobalt-feeling of sadness.

The grays settle like a cloak of smoke,
leaving you voiceless and dry-eyed,
with nothing so satisfying as a good cry.

The grays have nothing to give,
not even tears. Wraith-like,
they confuse the mind,
veiling the eyes,
covering the world.

2 thoughts on “The Grays

    1. I figured I might as well name them…the sun-starved refrain of midwinter in a place like the Pacific North West. I’m glad you feel they were accurately named. 🙂

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