Light has faded.
Only dabs of green, dirty white, pristine black and cleric gray.
A constant embrace each and everyday.
As, grunge fumbles her way toward the horizon.
Offering no predestination.
Plating, placating, instead.
A landscape in lackluster imagination.
Uninspired on cue, as if it were something new.
Ruin in red, seen as constantly, up ahead.
Tantrum in tranquil, teal.
As the sun begins to kneel.
Imagination the palette where art is stirred.
Only fitting to give all the credit to her.