People are always hating on gray.

I don't, for I see the beauty in it.

Gray is the space between

Where the interesting people fall.

Gray is the clouds

When the storm is soon to come and water the land.

Gray is the bird

That tries to take your food, but is adorable anyhow.

Gray is the gown

That covers the rocks, a masquerade for the gem within.

Gray is the ghost

Of what used to be, of what could've been.

Gray is the sound

Of tears shed together at last.

Gray is the shine

Of silver hiding beneath the surface.