Grey was a boy.
A sky that was perfectly clear one moment, only to be tainted by dark storm clouds after a mere blink. A face that was the same.
Grey’s skin was painted in the most vivid of colours, but it wasn’t long before he shed them and revealed the dull, faded truth beneath.
Grey was as unreachable as the bark on the highest branches of a beech tree.
Grey is a gravestone with a eulogy I carved for a still-living person.
Grey is the boy I wish to thank, for when he cut me open, I did not bleed in tears. I bled in poetry (of the brightest shade).
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Check out the writing prompt I wrote it for:
And the other poems I've created for it:
Comments (8)
I’m thankful for the poetry… despite the trauma which led to it!
This is so beautiful. The thought that such vivid colours of poetry could come from such hurt. Brilliantly done!
Twas between this one and the last one. But this one has an aura that I couldn't deny. "A sky that was perfectly clear one moment, only to be tainted by dark storm clouds after a mere blink. A face that was the same." Something about "same" got me. Your words, as ever, astound and impress, while remaining wistfully authentic. Just-- well done. Your are thriving off this prompt, and it's so fun to witness.
I want to tell you my favourite line, but... it's all of them. Each one hits harder than the one before it. Perfectly crafted 👍👍👍👍
Grey is a gravestone with a eulogy I carved for a still-living person. Whoaaa, that line! Your laat line was very bitter-sweet! Loved your poem!
The walking dead cannot hear the words or the songs you so eloquently sing. But there are others who can.
This was beautifully written. You are very talented!
This was an interesting read, I know from your other words that this boy was going to be the person you referred to in the last lines, but until then, I could also read it and see my adolescent boy, my 13 year old, shedding his childhood and retreating into puberty - my ending would have obviously been different, for this boy, but until then, a poem for anyone struggling with the shifting angst that, sadly, spills onto others at times.