Grey Matters

an old room, filled with nothing but a sourceless, dim, light and her,
her knitting in the dark and grey matters only slightly illuminated by her absence
she hasn't seen what she had wanted and she hasn't heard what she needs, her baby has been bought and sold and given a new home
it has no need for her anymore.

there are shiny buttons lying on the floor, spread wide, spread like the stars in the sky only not of star material
grey matters wafting through a crowded room, they mix with cigarette smoke and whirl in the upwind of candle-lights.

ashprints dotted around the floor, the small prints are that of a child's and it carries the hue of a rainbow
the flame cannot bother these anymore, it has already consumed and given the world light
ashprints up the winding staircase.

there is a breeze coming through the cracks of the jewelry box, there is a glint of light inside, warmth that only matchsticks can provide
flimsy, weak, pieces of wood destined for a moment of combustion, a moment of acceleration, of epiphany, a moment of eternal light
where is the key?

she knits, she dreams, she is lost, she has been cold for so long
the halls are filled with paintings, they have been cracked by time, time is the destroyer of worlds and creator of life
black, mauve, green and grey
old eyes staring blankly at the wall, without voices and without warmth
her braided hair falls down to her waist, she walks as if in water, crisp and clean water, lighter and softer

wings beat far away from her and she listens frightfully as they carry on, beating, fluttering
then they stop
the silence brings a shockwave, a brick wall of shadow
the dim light illuminates, her eyes shimmer in the same way as a pearl
ashprints turn a corner and she follows
where is the key?

tattered piece of fabric, coarse against her heels and the tone of her footsteps change into a noise
if she could hear she would become frightened, the touch of skin and strings of twine
there is a staircase leading to a room, down a dark corridor, there the mice have their domain, her tenants
joy of joys to find them, to hear laughter again, to share food again, to kiss and speak and love again
she quickens her pace and she skips steps, the footsteps change back to a beat, now only quick and light
a flutter of wings
and glimpse of her teeth as her lips part stretching towards her ears, laughter, again, one more time
she reaches the bottom of the staircase, her feet are bleeding, there are shards of bones that have lodged themselves into the soles of her feet

pain of realisation, pain of logic, pain of reality, pain of the way things are
grey matters surrounding her, like clothes, a dress, fit for a queen
only a humble body within a grand building, built by her forefathers, it is beautiful
only a humble body within a holy mind
within a stained glass window
within golden snowflakes
standing alone
where is the key?