A Grey World Poem by Moth Harris

It's a desolate world painted grey.
Each stroke of the brush is it's own, alone.
We gaze at this miraculous repulsion and wonder
what lead us to this?

So we must ask ourselves if the world really does exist.
Can we paint it new? Still in love with you, beautiful eyes.
She cries, but the painter must create this new world.
We gaze at her tears, lost fears, open ears, not a word.

It's a desolate sight painted blue,
to sit here forever watching you. Suddenly,
we've been decieved, we believed our eyes.
To our surprise, tears of joy, not a heart destroyed.

So we must ask ourselves if this is only what we see,
what can we really believe? Because our eyes lie, cry.
Decide only what it wants us to see, but I see you
and I believe... The world isn't as grey as it appears...