Grey Matters

It's not the black, fading to pale
that moved me so emphatically
to better ends and finer friends upon the horizon
nor the white, dulling with brilliance,
like lightning weakening the tongue too often tasted,
that recoiled to the melancholic lethargy
.
All the grey matters that shuffled along
with mortal coil and wrap
became indistinguishable, shades
left wailing and wanting
upon the horizon

It's burdensome to carry
these mountainous skies,
threaded by the sinews of humidity,
and though, like Atlas shrugging,
I too may cry clarion oaths
it is inconceivable
that there should be any hope