No one told me there’d be so many shades of grey.
Charcoals and silvers, ash greys and taupes,
So much unsaid and hinging on hopes.
Uncertainty, confusion, waiting for mires
To be lifted out of the sticky, wet pit of grey.
Society only painted with blacks and whites
and occasional reds.
So why am I stuck spinning in this world of dizzy grey?
Why am I stuck searching and seeking,
silently reeking of the stench of dirty grey?
He was a friend but maybe more.
So I shared my heart over and over and over
for ten years.
Gave him glimpses into my soul
for ten years.
And he peeked.
You peeked at my soul, now you’re turning your back.
Tell me, please tell me, just what did I lack?
You’re leaving me trapped in grey.
Suffocating grey, stifling grey,
never-ceasing, always creasing, soul-rifling grey.
I don’t like all the twisting, all the tearing,
all the squeezing, all the bearing of my fragile heart,
now speckled with shards of glass.
Pieces silently scattered.
Memories tossed and tattered.
Years haphazardly discarded.
And I’m surrounded by grey.
Swimming in grey.
Drowning in grey.
Vexed and perplexed and frowning but hey,
sometimes I catch glimpses of pastels.
Glimpses of periwinkle,
I catch glimpses of hope.
Streaks of hope.
Flashes of hope.
Beautiful, subtle, soft splashes of hope.
Hope dancing in the greys.
Dancing and swirling, majestically twirling in the midst of a sea of confusion unwhirling.
She dances and sings.
Oh the sweet color she brings.
She whispers in the grey silences.
She paints with soft yellows.
Violets and blues;
some swirls of candy pinks; a few dashes of orange.
She’s been painting all along.
In the midst of the canvas speckled with greys,
in the midst of the questions and nebulous haze,
in the midst of the turmoil, the churning, unlearning,
in the midst of the deafening silence returning
Some days I don’t see her caressing colors.
Some days I choose not to.
But when I do, oh when I do,
oh in those sweet, tender pauses,
I know what the cause is.
I know, yes I know that someone else peeked.
Peeked at my soul and yet left me whole.
Peeked deep within but left me in tact,
Did not reject,
Did NOT turn His back.
He studied, examined and cherished each crack.
saw each rejection.
Improved my reflection
by letting me peek at Him.
He delicately held my soul in the palm of His hands,
His giant, cracked hands.
Treasured it. Nestled it,
Saw doubt and wrestled it
until it surrendered.
Creation gripped by Creator once again.
He won’t leave me lost in the grey,
floundering in the grey.
He paints with vivid colors.
With magentas and teals and exploding oranges.
Cascades of color ripple from His robe.
He won’t let me wallow in the grey.
He won’t let me sink.
God with us.
Sure uses lots of pink.
In sunsets and sunrises.
He’s full of pink surprises,
of color and of hope.
He instructs me to lift my head from the sticky blankets,
From those heavy, thick blankets of grey I once thought I’d never untangle.
Never throw off.
Wild, passionate, untamed shades of red.
Daring, surprising, unnamed colors instead
of all the grey.
After lifting my head and emerging,
after witnessing bright color surging,
I see, yes I see, the power of purging
all the grey.
Hope waits for me.
Hope beckons me.
Hope freed me and I reckon she
will never leave this grateful soul.
This soul once lost in a world of grey,
now singing and leaping,
rejoicing and keeping
her eye on the artist with the paintbrush.