Shades of Gray
This is a gift; everytime I write I feel blessed.
I see butterflies flutter by the mic when I spit.
I look around the booth and see flowers bloom from the floors,
Sun reflecting off the dials on the mixing board.
Children run by laughing with the happiest looks.
The trees drop leaflets, landing on my booklets;
I brush them off gently, continue with my craft.
Can't help but smile when I finish the rough draft.
Hoping that this bliss will continue to last
When I close my book, it goes away so fast
My eyes sweep my surroundings, in amazement
Where the flowers once bloomed stands nothing but cracked pavement
Butterflies are replaced with beetles on brick walls
The sun is hidden behind clouds, as rain falls
The children wipe raindrops from their cheeks
Along with tears; suddenly, life seems so bleak.
A vibrant world filled with color has gone away
It dissipates to a street filled with shades of gray
My troubles are covered by the ink in my pen.
When I run out of ink, what will I do then?
These words I write alone make life endurable.
When these letters connect, ugliness seems beautiful.
When I die, I'll look back and wonder where the days went
Until then, I'll marvel at the roses that bloom
From the cracks in the pavement.