Philosophical

Such fanfare comes with joyous times
We engross ourselves in the balloons of memory,
Released as the grand floats of literary construct
Roll by for our enjoyment.

Thunder and lightning abound
And Rain pours down
In the darker literary universe,
As we take umbrellas in hand
And enjoy the beauty of the storm.

But what of the grey?
What of those times of calm?
They are viewed as boring,
Robotic, doldrums, of the every day
A mere existence between the extremes
But why should this be so?

Just as those old faded photographs
Speak to us from generations gone by,
And on our death beds we long for
One last mundane moment with our loved ones,
So too is there beauty hidden within
The many shades of grey

The Grey