The days, they grow so

The days, they grow so long and bare, to share

My e'er so cautious pain and strife, a knife

Inside the back of memories long past.

Grey clouds float o'er and I- to show my guilt-

Have fed the crows and filled my heart with silt.

But have I not had it better than some?

The sky may not be blue, lest it's not black!

And though the portrait that I paint is dull,

At least it shows in colors- Colors still.

The richness of even so little light,

To realize the beauty of the night!

As slowly the moon shows her veil of stars.