Dooms Day

The palette of my dull
mind blooms in colour
but I am monochrome,

Just like the old neighbour
who mourns a mourning
of the death he never received,

And maybe the uncanny death
of solidity in his nerves understood
the conviction of you and me,

And that of his very self,
like ubiquitous singular 
colours without the grey.

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4 thoughts on “Dooms Day

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