A poem. Where everything becomes grey and still.

NYC at night — Credit Anouska Parr

Is it drab? 
Dappled, softly layered shades, a contrast, is it bland, perhaps it is even beautiful?

A vapid recollection, sullen recourse, inaudible announcement, then the confusion comes.

Pointless emotion, wasteful, superfluous; please be still.

A dull chatter fills the night sky.

Are they hollow promises, is it broken trust; a landscape vast, yet suffocating.

The city. It closes in.

Vacant. Non-commital.
Is it desolation?


It is just Grey, neutral, silvered, silent, profound.


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