Gray

The sky is bleak,
the clouds piles upon piles of gray.
A warm breeze blows,
but I hardly feel it.

I watch the people hurry,
scurrying from one place to another,
fearful of the sun that
threatens to shine through the
darkening canopy above.
I see this all - life passes my eyes,
trees outside a train.
I see it all and I cannot help but smile.
My soul dances with the
leaves on the trees,
our temperament shifting alike.

I feel a sunset,
brilliant yet peaceful,
awe-inspiring yet grave.
This dreary world holds me not.
It cannot contain the magnitude
of my expression, the
otherworldly weightiness of
my melancholy - and yet
all is sum by the joy that
whispers through the speckled
sky, faint echoes of hope,
assurances of life,
worthy life.

These gray clouds cover not my end -
they are the shroud of my beginning.