::10:13:07::

::: Blue Green and Gray :::

The windows are floor to ceiling
Pane, little panes, square they are I suppose
Some could be curvy
On The top probably.

The room is blue or green or gray. Some icy color to waken up the day.

The bowls and cups and jugs and plates,
All horrors for The morning feast
Must all be made of cold white tin or dented metal at least.

The tablecloth is blue or gray or green. Some icy color to waken up the scene.

On The floor is The dull white cat chasing a string attached to an invisible black mouse or rat.

A tall cracked vase with bluebells are on The table. Yesterday's bluebells. Yesterday's fable.

The paint on the walls is cracked I hope,
I hope from all the bangs of summer.

The window opens onto the balcony where someone can stand on the iron shelf,
Made of metals that are long dead. Their rusty memories hold it in place for a few,
Just a few, more of us left on the shelf.

He came broken down the broken stairs, as his back and the steps creaked,
To face once again The clouds outside.
That are gray or green or blue.
Something icy to awaken the day scene anew.

Today he has a shirt on, a blue shirt it must be,
Maybe it's gray or green.

He's older now than yesterday.
Not green, a little blue and some gray.

His hair is gray
His shirt is green
His mood is blue

Icy colors stay, Gray, Green and Blue

Written by: ~ Ian Cazador