Morning Colors, the Colors of Mourning

The grey falls down
the grey has fallen covering the waiting Earth-clothing the naked sky.
This day is too thick, these days too heavy.
A winter like sky welcoming idle brains back.
This grey has fallen.
A soul in mourning. My soul in this morning of grey. Too heavy. The weight of unspoken pulling, dragging acros a day too tight. A body worn.
Snap.
Thud.
Your pain gains a voice.
Through the fallen grey, the veil of your mourning soul becomes something else entirely. Not necessarily another moment, nor a period signalling an end.