Apricity

Grey were the skies, so were the men.
I sought no peace, not from the den.
Around with words as cold as ice,
Off to the den I walked with a price.

Stoic my face, heavy my mood;
Little I peered out from my hood.
The den stood still, like lifeless stone,
A hollowed hive, where minds were lone.

Months crept by as I broke the shell,
Roaming the den, prepared for hell.
Months crept by as the sky turned blue;
I drew a picture, so precious, so true.

Exploring the fissure, breaching the door,
Talking with strangers, hearing them pour.
Stories took shape, memories to adore;
The den grew on me like none before.

Months passed by, the air turned cold,
Yet in its chill, lay warmth untold.
Months passed by, the leaves grew rough,

Yet in their fall, I stood so tough.

Visitor was I, a few years back;
The den became home, where memories stack.
Stranger was I, a few years back;
A nest became the den, a place to unpack.

A pink sky called me, far from the east;
I chose to pry, with fear to the least.
The painted blue, now etched in lore,
Fades to pink as new dreams soar.

From grey to blue, I found my hue,
To embrace the pink, with visions new.
From grey to blue, the den became home,
To embrace the pink, to let me roam.