grey

God,
I saw you the other day out by the jute mills.
The sun was in your eyes as you looked up at the sky.
You lifted a grime covered hand against the intolerable gold
Seeping through the swirling grey line of smoke from the iron-clad chimneys.
And watched the light filter through your fingers, red-gold and tainted.
Sparkling honey-dew and sulphur sprinkled across your bronze skin.
Change is good. But nothing really matters.
Change is inevitable. But no one really cares.
Something precious, like the pride of creation.
And that of the creator… when industry smiles.
I thought perhaps you still find beauty in pain –
Because nothing is more beautiful than hell distorted.
Symphonies of splintered glass where you waited
For the blue… and found the grey.
You looked back but didn’t see me standing by the clearing
Where the old tree once stood a long time ago.
It had no name… like me and you.
But you’re still trying to lose yours.
Grey is beautiful, too, if you turn your eyes from the dazzle of colour.
That’s where I lost myself because I didn’t understand.