The greyness in lives

They said that our life was dull,

not a life at all.

We disagreed.

They called it grey,

expecting us to say no,

but we said yes,

for our life was indeed grey.

We did not indulge in crimson,

violence not a whisper in our ears.

Nor did we pose with mauve,

bruises scarcely found.

Rust was done away,

for what we had,

we treated with care,

time was merely a concept.

It was sparkling silver,

so pretty a magpie would to steal it away.

It was with charcoal,

her art which drew our breath away,

puffing out a cloud,

the color which promised rain,

giving way to life,

and growth.

It was the color of flint,

our matching clothes,

that we wore,

to show that we still had

our innocence,

dancing on floors of fossil,

yet laughter wasn't the past.

We wore doves,

our peace with each other,

a pebble into the ocean.

We were indeed grey,

but grey is not

what you think it to be.