Slate-Colored Grays Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Swirling and diving in squares of delight, happy with
antique morbidity.
Shuffling and beaming down corridors unopened in any
century.
Livelihood standing aside, waking itself in
anticipation of tomorrow.
Whenever dust forms it's patterns on tables bereft of
doilies, we hover uncertainly in abysmal spasms of
immaturity.
Ready, waiting for changes to come about, taking away
all endeavors held onto from habit.
In distant memories, talent escapes, flying high
without a care to tie it tightly to submerged
depressions of the mind in slate-colored grays, tucked
away forever.