The old man sings the blues

Early morning the day had died
a wall of grey nothingness death without grief.
The night had been dreamless had there been any night or had been erased,
life and death have merged this the end
of what I will see.  
Is my bed a coffin I have been let out of?
So I could see what the world was like when
it was colourless, an insipid oblivion, this
apart we see in hues is an illusion  to spare
us the reality the world does not exist
we are dreams within the imagined
and life is an invention.