Grey

Shades there be,
not those hues
ridiculed or ridiculous.
Reality spans
nearly nuclear white,
shy of midnight’s black,
and all the universe between,
undefined, unnamed, oft unseen.

Shades of the past drawn,
my grandmother’s furs,
the blinds on the windows,
the smoke and the ash,
the granite on her grave,
my inheritance in dust.

Shades of this day color
my mother’s hair,
the foam on third coast waves,
the sunrise after the storm,
the fen’s air at twilight,
my son’s eyes at birth.

Shades of tomorrow toss
my own wind-blown hair,
the shadows on the wall,
the snow across the screen,
the light over the pond,
my daughter’s pale face at dawn.

Unbidden, unwritten,
often unfolded, unending
Truth spreads
its whitening wings wide
over darkened day
where underneath
these shades be.

__________
Copyright 2015 by Femme Malheureuse
Graphic: Scott Smithson via Flickr