Colors Turn To Grey

The wilderness is bare.
Some foreign hands steal
all green, the blue and we
are disregarded.

The highway is desolate.
No cars, no noise of an
engine, and nothing at all
to see, to hear.

The home becomes a house.
Even shadows are not there
to prove the presence of an
existence. Colors turn to grey.




About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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