νεφέλη βάτης‎

Not grey, not quite, but a muted space.
Evening's impression embracing the view.
Fallen are the boundaries that held in place
ethereal beauty that once was new.
Lost to the night, your empirical grace;
iridescent memories we formerly knew.
Both joy and peace, all now encased
as a box of sentiments we long outgrew.
'Tomorrow' - a word that feels as misplaced
as a cloud in a mirror that once was blue.