bb_grey

"all colors made me happy: even grey" ( Pale Fire , Nabokov)

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  • bb_grey 1d

    Mistake

    We were never a mistake...


    Just expired time

    In all one could take

    For a memory to keep.


    ©bb_grey

  • bb_grey 1w

    Window to the soul

    i looked through the pane

    and saw joy 

    In a garden

    you kept

    as you removed stones, weeds, and things that didn't belong

    while you wept


    made ready the bed

    for seed that had previously slept

    saw blossom to bloom 

    beautifully carried away

    into sunlight yellow yolk

    on a zephyr heavy of blue 

    perfectly white

    streaks of lament


    shook hands with a stranger

    I believe his name was Regret

    pulled black curtains

    over the pain

    pictured you in a golden frame



    ©bb_grey

  • bb_grey 2w

    Four letter word

    “Honey could you help me?”


    I threw open the door

    Stumbled with boxer-shorts handcuffed to ankles

    To a cold kitchen floor.


    Laid still for a moment which turned into hours

    mumbled

    “oh sure.. what is it?”

    a graceful repose

    And looked just past her head

    To a shelf with a cheap photo replica of a make believe farm selling oranges for .05 cents

    In wooden prison crates

    A bygone era

    Classic framed pop art 

    A dart to the heart


    “What’s a four letter word for joke?” 


    Will I thought, and snapped back, “quip!"

    She penciled it in ink

    And wondered why it worked.

    I stood composed

    Went back to the john

    Lit fire to a cigarette 

    And flushed it down


    Threw open the door

    Walked forward two steps

    And wondered why it worked.


    ©bb_grey

  • bb_grey 2w

    Hollow

    If I didn't have words now

    I would never have them.


    Standing hollow

    In a room for the living

    Dead

    Empty walls

    Photo negatives of a perfect life

    Overexposed

    Underscored

    Disposed.

    Positively taken


    Screaming to be filled

    As do I

    And in disbelief

    Wonder why?

    Colors turned grey

    Within the frey

    Disproportionate

    To the events of the day.


    I had words

    Of thoughts that never would be said

    So I walked away


    ©bb_grey

  • bb_grey 3w

    Procrastinating
    .


    How many lives have you lived dead unable to decide?

    ©bb_grey

  • bb_grey 3w

    Before the fall
    ...


    Proud stood her ground

    Screamed humble

    Void of sound


    Forced me to bended knee

    I fumble to mumble

    Elegant prose

    A grey rose

    Disposed

    Melodic 

    Chaotic 

    Controlled noise

    Monochromatic red

    She bled

    I took her for dead

    Lie'd for her bed


    Stalingrad acres

    yellow of rose

    She froze

    Behold

    Rigid hope

    Ready to fold

    Cold

    Hold.

  • bb_grey 3w

    Dance

    You danced soft white

     in that moment of joy


    As life gasped in wonder

    taking with it all noise

    The warm sun spilling yellow

    In futile attempt to cast a mold of you in poise

    Thought better

    And broke it for us


    A gift for

    you to behold

    me to adore

    forevermore


    ©bb_grey

  • bb_grey 3w

    thanks for reaching out

    I've learned to push people away to a distance that requires the outstretching of arms to ensure that I am still within reach.


    ©bb_grey

  • bb_grey 4w

    Let go

    I realized only after I had let everyone I'd ever loved go that all along I had only ever wanted to be held by those same souls and feel the embrace of a love that let me grow even if into this death of alone.

    ©bb_grey

  • bb_grey 4w

    Fathers and sons

    Like all men with a faculty that surpasses human requirements, his father was very nervous. Then, too, he was sentimental, and, like most sentimental people, he was both cruel and abused. Also, he had much bad luck, and it was not all of it his own. He had died in a trap that he had helped only a little to set, and they had all betrayed him in their various ways before he died. All sentimental people are betrayed so many times. (Hemingway, Fathers and Sons)