The walls were greyish

She kept them that way to avoid thinking about the colours

That she might like if she looked 

But it was easier to just keep everything as grey as always 

And then nothing could dim, or tarnish. 

The walls of the cell were greyish.

He asked if painting the walls pretty colours with patterns and things 

To make it a place of freedom and dreams 

She looked at him with bewilderment in her eyes 

And told him sternly to leave then because they are 

The walls of a cell which is always greyish. 

He gave up puzzling about this and dreamed of field of golden barley 

Of hills and beautiful sunsets 

She repeated an oft said phrase with more vehemence 

The walls stay grey because they are as I say 

Always destined to be greyish 




Author: ailsacawley

I have written since I can remember, devouring the stories of Roald Dahl under the covers by torchlight. I have always loved fairy tales, myths and magic. A good deal of the things I write has some truth in it. Others, not. I’m pleased you dropped by, please feel free to leave me a comment or if you’re kind enough to share that’s fine. ☺️

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: