This picture is in color
Or so I have been told
Yet all I see are streaks of gray
Like stinking, putrid mold
Something isn't quite right
Something sacred isn't here
But as I count up all I have
There's the taste of rancid beer
It lingers when there's laughter
It whispers when there's warmth
And when I count my sins at bedtime
That haunting taste comes forth
Yet the world keeps on shifting
In its infinite monochrome haze
I stare in the mirror and smile
But the gray dwells in my gaze.
© Mu Antoun "The Feathered Pagan"
The Plump Gryphon 