Gray

Let us take a look at his lore,

The boy born in the wide open door.

Whose lips sang the sun songs,

With the veiled solemn throngs.

As he was growing,

He started thinking,

Began asking what he believed,

What made him relieved.

So he flipped through the pages,

Read about the so-called sages,

And the council that started it all,

The past with many patches.

Then he went to the burning ones,

Who denied the songs of sun,

He asked them why,

In which he got this reply:

"We choose to rip the veil,

For the light to prevail."

The hourglass played on the sands,

And the boy was now a man,

But still wondering,

Still wandering.

Until he met the enlightened ones,

Who claimed they sing the truth.

He asked them why,

In which he got this reply:

"We are with the burning ones,

But we only have burnt hands.

For we were saved by the words,

Which would save this world."

They taught him the words,

But he also refused,

Remaining in gray,

Mind still in fray.

But deep inside he was certain,

He believed someone is behind the curtain.

The one with so much power,

The seed of all thorny flowers.