The Window Grey

It’s not a cloudy day

nor a rainy one in May

But the window’s grey.

It’s not a prison hole

or a the reflection off a pole

but still the window’s grey.

I doubt its dirt or dust

nor is it painted that way

Yet still the window’s grey.

I don’t have sunglasses on

and yes, the tint is gone

still… still, the window’s grey.

No, it’s not in the imagination,

nor a work of mischievous divination

but still the window’s grey.

It isn’t a graphical theme

designed by Mr. Gates and his team

somehow still, the window’s grey.

Perhaps it isn’t the glass,

the eyes or the mind,

perhaps it is deeper still

Someplace hard to find.

Maybe the window isn’t.

Maybe the window is.