Muted Aspirations

Today I woke up on a world that had no sun.

All the wonderful colors I'd grown to love

smothered beneath a patina of lifeless dun.

Devoid of even one beautiful hue to speak of.

It's as if the land itself were in mourning;

the wind's dolorous howl while the crumpled heavens weep,

and not a single bird has dared part it's beak to sing.

For once, I wish I could drift back to restless sleep.

Colors, hidden away in the periphery of my mind.

I can almost see them, quivering violently in fear.

Tucked away in a wistful dream, somewhere I'll never find.

Leaving me alone with this dull world, painfully austere.

Even the pattering rain against my fogged-over window

can't assuage the gloom bearing down upon my heart.

Words fail to describe, at least the ones I still know,

how miserable the Earth truly is without creation's art.

No passage of time restores to me the lost coloration.

This bleached planet is my prison, no matter what I do.

Breathless from my pitiful cries of aesthetic desperation,

but I guess I'm not yet miserable enough for You.

And here I really thought this day might be the one

where I would finally write that mellifluous song,

but instead I'm lying here, barely able to hum.

Thinking again about all the thing's I've done wrong.