The Gray–A Poem By Mu Antoun

This picture is in color
Or so I have been told
Yet all I see are streaks of gray
Like stinking, putrid mold

Something isn't quite right
Something sacred isn't here
But as I count up all I have
There's the taste of rancid beer

It lingers when there's laughter
It whispers when there's warmth
And when I count my sins at bedtime
That haunting taste comes forth

Yet the world keeps on shifting
In its infinite monochrome haze
I stare in the mirror and smile
But the gray dwells in my gaze.


© Mu Antoun "The Feathered Pagan"

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