Grey (a poem):
I drive in a grey car
down a grey road
where the clouds are grey
and the rain is grey, too
but the grass is green
vibrant,
lively,
sparkling, prolific, thriving
amongst the storm of grey.
I always thought the grass looked greener when it rains.
Despite the weeks under the
hot
crackling sun that
dries and bakes
and sucks the life out of the stems,
the rain comes.
The brown, dullness
stripped away
and the life comes
roaring back,
stronger, greener, brighter than ever.
Ready to continue on, and brave the rain.
Not dampened, but strengthened
glorified in the world of grey.
And I wonder, if I were to step out of
the grey car
onto the grey road
admist the grey clouds
and grey rain;
would I be rejuvenated and refreshed like the grass
with my faults
and failures
and hardships
washed away
or would I
f
a
d
into the grey
once
again?
