Gray is the color of the darkest part of cities.
It’s the color of the sky when the sun hides behind a blanket of clouds.
The color of ashes and the color of hair before the end.
I see gray in the eyes of those with nothing left.
Gray finds its way into the cracks and the crevices, swelling till it breaks.
Eyelashes are gray and skin of the sick is gray.
When black and white smear together, they birth gray.
It’s not one or the other and fills the world with a balance
An innerplace and stillness and a world of gray.