Life in Sepia

The layers of tones,
wrinkling and falling,
fighting for position,
yet, so very much against the law of gravity.
A gravity so harsh, indeed, one may say a grave situation indeed.

Did he take heed?
Why no, madam, how very silly of you to even think that he may.
And er madam, would you mind if I ask, um, what the devil are you doing?
Well sir, the world seems so misaligned,
a spinning top out of control,
no juxtaposition of merit.
The colour has drained,
fading to shades of mushroom and beige and tasteless coffee,
of urban soil and grime so thick.
The hatred written through to the very core, a core of brown where colour runs out.
So sir, I've slumped before I'm Trumped
Before my life of colour finally becomes a life lived in sepia
And just because I can, my aligning the misalignment may just bring the tones of hope back,
back where they belong.
For you see sir, life without colour, is definitely no life at all.