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. First inspired by the wonderful stories of Roald Dahl, the Brothers Grimm etc. I adore myths and magic of all sorts, though I read so many genres it's impossible to classify it all!! Some of my poetry is truth with a healthy (or unhealthy depending on your view!),dose of magic and fiction and others are pure fiction. I'll leave you to decide for yourself which those are! Please stop by and enjoy and glad to make your acquaintance. Feel free to leave a comment 🙂

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