Laodicean Gentleman

Charcoal street, burnt to grey,
Sky’s golden eye wears a grey patch,
And morning’s grey mist hovers –
neither striking nor piercing, but blinding still.
All is quiet. Grey is silent.

Dust grey room, cobweb wallpaper,
Dead bird’s grey carpet litters
outdated ads on rotting floor.
Black and white photo— really just shades of grey.
All is quiet. Grey is silent.

Empty rocking chair stares out
The grey fog-clothed window.
Night’s shadows glide – grey
Specters of a dying world.
All is quiet. Grey is silent.

Grey wisps of thread adorned
His head. And faltering hands
Gripped the grey metallic stick
With fading strength.
All is quiet. Grey is silent.

A grey life spent
Neither black nor white,
Neither wrong nor right.
Grey tombstone stands triumphant,
For ashes too, are grey.

All is quiet. Grey is deadly.