She stuck at the middle of her dream.
And her eye lashes carried the silver tint.
Cold breeze appraising of the mystic tone.
And her grey color is gone.
She wrote letters to God.
Bare pages, though meant to her a lot.
Her salted cheeks would dry soon; she is no more lone.
And her grey color is gone.
She stood behind the horizon;
Reversed the color she worn.
Found the blue comfort zone.
And her grey color is gone.
Was there echoes that made her words being melted?
And she discovered a canvas, that was long since painted.
Now her dream are not broken, eyes are shone.
Because her deep grey color is gone.