Love was black,
and love was white.
I though I knew -
or was I told? -
the meaning.
Told.
Told, with a rigidness.
Told, with a consequence.
Because if it's not black,
and it's not white,
it's worthless.
But then that pure white,
darkened.
But then that pious black,
lightened.
Until it was the perfect
shade of gray.
And now I forget,
The deepness of that black
And the gleam of that white,
For gray is all I know.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 1:08 AM UTC
Love was black,
and love was white.
I though I knew -
or was I told? -
the meaning.
Told.
Told, with a rigidness.
Told, with a consequence.
Because if it's not black,
and it's not white,
it's worthless.
But then that pure white,
darkened.
But then that pious black,
lightened.
Until it was the perfect
shade of gray.
And now I forget,
The deepness of that black
And the gleam of that white,
For gray is all I know.