I have a humble beginning.
You’d think I’d go away,
with all my tiny, crumbling pieces,
that you mistake for a light black,
a dark white,
but, you see, I won’t.
I’m here to stay.
You’d find me in the roads you tread
and the buildings you make.
I am in the gravel,
cementing a solid ground
for the wearing walks you must take.
I breathe between the bricks
of your well crafted walls,
beneath the pastels and patterns,
that hide your innocent tricks.
Every now and then,
I appear in the sky,
bringing the world back
to the truth it must accept.
And, you know what?
So should you.
You see, I’m the cloud in your head,
when the whirlwinds won’t stop
picking every ounce of grief and remorse
and won’t stop planting them deep
into your bones and remember
as I rain down from your eyes,
I do not always promise a sunshine after.
I’m this heaviness sitting on your chest,
when you don’t have reasons enough
to keep on with this grey thing
your strongest bet,
your weakest whim.
I am all that will be left of you,
if you don’t die
before you are burnt to ashes.