The morning turns

Oh how where bright
Morning sky's
Filled upon the yellows
Pigments orange, red
Flood, exchange and hold
The meaning to such
A depth
That nothing matters.
But strange the expression
That floods the background
And hums upon a grayscale
That envelopes whole
The shadows that haunt us.
It's those dusky gray days
That although depressing
Hold more the truth
The reality of life
And where the being said wow
To the colours of dawn
The soul says wow
To the honesty of a muggy, gray day.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
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