(not in yellow)
The window’s grey. I see just mist
That crawls to me across the street.
They say that I’m a pessimist,
But are they happy in this sleet?
Grey people walk, grey pigeons fly,
Grey cars pass by the garbage cans,
Grey earth, grey water and grey skies
Together meet in foolish dance.
Grey blocks of flats with dirty scars,
Grey windows set upon the walls,
Grey sky without shining stars –
Grey wheel of life so slowly rolls.
And I now dream and try to waste
Another gone forever day.
There is no sense. There is no taste.
My heart is dark. My soul is grey.
Symphony in Grey
© Copyright: Lancelot, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103110900119
Свидетельство о публикации №103110900119
Рецензии
A remarkable description of depression. I remember seeing environment grey when I starved, on the third day. Try to find the way out. A support group or something. Anyway, writing about it is great! I believe that writing good poetry can cure depression.
Regards,
Tania
Татьяна Юницкая 24.07.2014 23:26 • Заявить о нарушении
Regards,
Tania
Татьяна Юницкая 24.07.2014 23:26 • Заявить о нарушении
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