I miss the roar of the fires...
The warmth of the flame
that fuels the luscious
red in me.

I despise the wiles
of indifferent clocks,
the incessant ticking...
That eats into skin and bone.

I anticipate the return of colour.
For all I see, only lingers
within the seemingly infinite
levels of grey.

But I loathe the notion...
That when that time
would finally arrive,
all would’ve turned to stone.