It feels like a storm,

Loud, gloomy, and yet so calm.

As hauntingly dark as nightfall,

Yet still light like a rain cloud.


It smells like an art studio,

Pencil lead and paint,

Surrounding you and pulling you in,

Like ash left over from a fire,

Blanketing over the ground,

Like a soot filled sandbox.


It sounds like a broken bell,

The faded clang over cracked metal,

Broken and whole hitting against one another,

Almost as loud as a doorknob hitting the wall.


Grey is like a storm,

Surrounding you in loud,

Yet still subtle, cloud-like darkness.

As soft as ash,

Falling over you in a calming dark.


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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