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Dive into "Black And White Becomes Grey," a thought-provoking exploration of human nature by Skye's Pen. Discover the story behind the title and the message it conveys.
The Grey Area
The title "Black And White Becomes Grey" signifies that people are not simply good or evil, but a blend of both. It acknowledges the complexities of human character, resonating with Skye's Pen's commitment to honest and relatable writing.
Black and White Becomes Grey
The wind it howled a mournful cry, across the moor so wide,
Where stood a manor, stark and high, with secrets deep inside.
Lord Ashworth ruled with iron hand, a face of chiseled stone,
His deeds were etched across the land, some whispered, mercy flown.
They said he’d seized the peasant’s field, when taxes went unpaid,
And watched them starve, their fate revealed, a bitter price he’d made.
They said he’d scorned a maiden fair, who loved him with her soul,
And left her shattered, in despair, beyond all hope’s control.
They painted him in shades of black, a devil in disguise,
No kindness held within his track, no pity in his eyes.
But whispers too, like fallen leaves, swept by the autumn breeze,
Spoke of a different Ashworth, grieves, and seeks a moment’s ease.
One told of how, in darkest night, a fire raged so fierce,
And Ashworth, battling with all his might, had rescued, with a pierce,
A child trapped in the burning room, regardless of the cost,
He’d braved the flames, dispelled the gloom, a life from being lost.
Another spoke of hidden gold, disbursed in secret ways,
To widows, shivering in the cold, to mend their lonely days.
He’d never boast, nor take acclaim, for acts of silent grace,
But ease the suffering, hide the shame, and leave no tell-tale trace.
The village folk, they scratched their heads, unsure of what to feel,
Was Ashworth villain, full of dreads, or wounds he tried to heal?
No easy answer could they find, no simple truth to see,
Just shades of grey, intertwined, in his complexity.
Then came the news, a somber bell, that tolled across the vale,
Lord Ashworth, struck by sudden spell, his life began to fail.
The villagers, with hesitant tread, approached the manor gate,
A mixture of both fear and dread, to learn of Ashworth's fate.
They found him weak, upon his bed, his breath a ragged sigh,
The color drained, his spirit fled, to some uncharted sky.
He beckoned to him, old man Gray, the vicar, frail and meek,
And whispered words that held the sway, of truths he’d long to speak.
“I know they curse my name,” he sighed, “and judge me harsh and cold,
But life has dealt a cruel divide, a story to be told.
My father, he was stern and grim, a tyrant in his way,
He taught me strength, to rise and swim, against the tide each day.
He showed me power, to command, to bend the world to will,
But never taught a helping hand, to ease another’s ill.
He saw the world in black and white, the strong against the weak,
And crushed the weak with all his might, a lesson hard to speak.
When I inherited the land, I vowed to change the course,
To temper justice with a hand, of mercy and remorse.
But old habits, they die hard, and grip you in their hold,
The fear of weakness, left a scar, a story to unfold.
The taxes levied, harsh and steep, were not from greed alone,
But burdens I could barely keep, debts that had overgrown.
My father’s gambling, secrets kept, had bled the coffers dry,
And I was forced, while others slept, to watch the people cry.
The maiden fair, I did not scorn, but knew I could not wed,
A curse upon my lineage born, a darkness overhead.
My mother, she was lost to grief, when I was but a boy,
And madness, like a falling leaf, destroyed her inner joy.
The doctors warned, the whispers spread, the taint might linger near,
And I, in love, was filled with dread, to pass the curse down here.
So I pushed her away, though heart did break, to spare her from the pain,
And wore the mask, for goodness sake, to weather through the rain.
The fire, yes, I risked my life, to save the child from doom,
But not from pure and noble strife, but to dispel the gloom.
My brother died within the flames, a memory ever bright,
And every flicker, whispered names, throughout the lonely night.
I felt compelled, in that dark hour, to right a wrong unseen,
To reclaim what the fire's power, had stolen, harsh and keen.
The hidden gold, I gave away, to those in direst need,
A silent penance, day by day, a self-inflicted creed.
For I am not a saint, you see, nor villain through and through,
Just human, bound by destiny, with good and evil too.
The black and white, they blur and blend, a tapestry of grey,
Where motivations never end, and shadows always play.
I sought to do the best I could, within the confines set,
To mend the wrongs, misunderstood, the debts I couldn’t forget.
Forgive me, for the hurts I caused, the tears I left behind,
And know that even in the jaws, of darkness, love I’d find.”
His voice grew faint, a whispered prayer, his eyes began to close,
The weight of secrets, hard to bear, released him from his woes.
Lord Ashworth died, a complex soul, a puzzle to the end,
A story whispered, taking toll, on hearts that tried to mend.
The villagers, they stood in awe, the vicar by his side,
A mixture of respect and raw, emotion they could hide.
Old man Gray, he cleared his throat, and spoke with solemn grace,
“Let’s not judge harshly, every note, reflects a different pace.
Lord Ashworth was a man, flawed, true, with burdens he did bear,
His actions shaped by things he knew, and choices he would share.
Let’s learn from him, to look beyond, the surface we can see,
To understand the ties that bond, in all humanity.
For black and white, they rarely stand, alone in stark display,
But intertwine across the land, in shades of shifting grey.
Let’s strive for good, with open hearts, and kindness as our guide,
And play our individual parts, with humility inside."
They buried Ashworth on the hill, overlooking the wide moor,
The wind still howling, stark and shrill, a somber, constant lure.
But something shifted in the air, a gentler breeze began,
A whisper of forgiveness there, for the imperfect man.
The villagers, they slowly turned, and walked back to their homes,
Their hearts with newfound wisdom burned, dispelling all the glooms.
They understood that life is vast, a spectrum to embrace,
And in the grey, the colors cast, define the human race.
When it’s all gone
The raven sits upon the sill, a shadow etched in gray,
Another dawn bleeds through the chill, another hollow day.
The world outside is bustling bright, with laughter, love, and cheer,
But here within, there is no light, just emptiness and fear.
When it’s all gone, what will remain? A question that I dread,
A whisper in the pouring rain, a tomb within my head.
I used to walk with spring in stride, a song upon my tongue,
My heart a boundless, flowing tide, where hope forever clung.
I built my castles in the air, on foundations strong and true,
Believed that joy was mine to share, and dreams would all come through.
But winds of sorrow rose one night, and tore my world apart,
Extinguished every guiding light, and shattered my own heart.
When it’s all gone, the dreams I chased, the futures I had planned,
Will I be utterly erased, a ghost in shifting sand?
Remember fields of golden wheat, beneath a summer sky?
The gentle rhythm of our feet, as hours drifted by?
We carved our names upon a tree, a symbol of our bond,
Declared for all eternity, our love would stretch beyond.
But seasons change, and trees grow old, the carvings fade and blur,
The story of our love, untold, a whispered sepulcher.
When it’s all gone, the memories bright, the promises we made,
Will darkness claim them in the night, a soul forever strayed?
My friends, they call, they offer aid, a hand to pull me through,
But shadows cling, a barricade, that keeps me from their view.
I hear their voices, warm and kind, yet cannot reach their grace,
A prisoner of my own mind, in this desolate, lonely space.
They speak of sunshine, hope, and grace, of strength I still possess,
But all I see is my disgrace, a monumental mess.
When it’s all gone, the friendships true, the bonds that held me fast,
Will I be left with only you, despair that's meant to last?
I try to fight, I try to rise, to break these heavy chains,
But darkness dwells within my eyes, and sorrow always reigns.
I search for solace, seek release, a glimmer of the sun,
But find no comfort, find no peace, the battle’s never won.
The therapist speaks words of art, of chemicals and thought,
But none can truly restart, the fire that I’ve fought.
When it’s all gone, the will to strive, the strength to persevere,
Will I just cease to be alive, consumed by doubt and fear?
The doctor prescribes pills of white, a chemical embrace,
To chase away the endless night, and find a happier place.
They numb the pain, they dull the edge, they mask the hollow core,
But cannot build a sturdy ledge, upon this crumbling shore.
The side effects, a constant drone, a blurry, hazy view,
I feel more lost, more all alone, with nothing left to do.
When it’s all gone, the trust I held, in science and in art,
Will I be utterly compelled, to play a hopeless part?
I used to find in nature's grace, a balm to soothe my soul,
The wind that kissed my weary face, would make me feel whole.
The ocean waves, a rhythmic beat, would calm my troubled mind,
But now the beauty I can't greet, my senses left behind.
The flowers bloom in vibrant hues, the birds sing melodies,
But all I see are somber blues, and hear the mournful trees.
When it’s all gone, the joy I found, in simple, earthly things,
Will silence be the only sound, the death of hopeful wings?
I pray for strength, I pray for light, to banish all the gloom,
To find my way through endless night, and escape this living tomb.
I search for meaning, seek a sign, a reason to go on,
But only echoes intertwine, of battles lost and gone.
The church bells ring, a solemn plea, a call to faith and grace,
But hollow words are all I see, in this forsaken place.
When it’s all gone, the faith I kept, the solace I implored,
Will I be eternally inept, a soul forever flawed?
I lie awake, as shadows creep, across the bedroom wall,
And try to lull myself to sleep, before I start to fall.
The darkness whispers in my ear, of ending all the pain,
Of silencing the doubt and fear, and breaking free again.
The thought, a tempting, sweet release, a final, peaceful shore,
A promise of eternal peace, where sorrow haunts no more.
When it’s all gone, the fear of death, the longing to be free,
Will I surrender my last breath, and vanish silently?
The raven watches from the sill, its eyes like beads of night,
A silent witness, standing still, to my unending plight.
It knows the depths of my despair, the battles I have lost,
The crushing weight I cannot bear, the agonizing cost.
It waits for me to lose the fight, to crumble and to fade,
To surrender to the endless night, and join the silent shade.
When it’s all gone, the last small spark, of hope that still remains,
Will I be swallowed by the dark, and bound in endless chains?
But somewhere deep within my soul, a flicker still remains,
A tiny ember, taking hold, defying all the pains.
A memory of laughter bright, a touch of gentle hand,
A whisper in the darkest night, "You still can understand."
The world may seem a desolate place, and shadows may abound,
But beauty lingers, leaves a trace, on consecrated ground.
When it’s all gone, almost, but not, the very final thread,
I’ll cling to all I’ve learned and fought, and rise up from the dead.
For even in the deepest night, a star can find its gleam,
And even in the darkest fight, there is a waking dream.
I’ll gather up the shattered shards, and piece them back together,
Though marked with scars, though battle-scarred, I'll weather any weather.
The path ahead may still be long, and fraught with pain and fear,
But I will find a strength that's strong, and hold my spirit dear.
When it’s all gone, the illusion’s break, the world starts anew,
A chance to heal, a chance to wake, and find a strength that’s true.
The raven stirs, it takes to flight, a shadow in the dawn,
And fades away into the light, as a new day is born.
The chill remains, but now I see, a glimmer in the gray,
A possibility for me, to find a brighter day.
The battle’s not completely won, the scars will still remain,
But I will face the rising sun, and break these heavy chain.
When it’s all gone, except for will, to rise above the pain,
I’ll climb that solitary hill, and learn to live again.
Is it tolerable to live in a lie?
The cobwebs cling to gilded frames,
Dust motes dance in sunlit beams,
A grand facade, a whispered name,
A life constructed of false dreams.
Old Silas lived within the keep,
A monument to bygone days,
Where secrets slumbered, buried deep,
And truth was lost in winding ways.
His father, Lord Alaric, the Bold,
Had died upon the battlefield,
A tragic tale, meticulously told,
His valiant spirit, never healed.
Young Silas, heir to land and might,
Was raised on legends, brave and bright,
To emulate that shining light,
And banish darkness with his fight.
But Alaric had not been slain,
No hero's death, no valiant stand,
He’d fled the fight, consumed by pain,
And vanished to a distant land.
A peasant, sickly, worn and weak,
Was found upon the bloody ground,
His visage mirrored Alaric’s physique,
And so the noble lie was found.
The Queen, consumed by dread and fear,
Of losing power, land, and name,
Had whispered falsehoods in his ear,
And sealed his fate with guilt and shame.
"Let Silas think his father brave,
A legend etched in history's page,
A lie is better than the grave,
Of shattered faith and endless rage."
So Silas grew, a mirrored son,
With Alaric's name, but not his soul,
His victories hard-won, one by one,
To fill the gaping, hollow hole.
He led his troops with iron hand,
He judged with wisdom, sharp and keen,
Protecting all within the land,
A noble figure, rarely seen.
He married Lady Elara fair,
Whose beauty shone like morning dew,
He loved her deeply, beyond compare,
Or so he desperately imbue.
But in her eyes, a subtle shade,
Of pity mixed with veiled disdain,
She knew the truth, the price he paid,
To carry Alaric's stained domain.
She knew the peasant, weak and frail,
Whose life had been so readily claimed,
She knew the lie, the damning trail,
Of secrets buried, truth defamed.
Her father, the old royal scribe,
Had penned the false decree with tears,
He'd seen the truth, he'd felt the bribe,
That fueled the kingdom’s trembling fears.
And Elara, bound by oath and blood,
Was forced to play her assigned part,
A queen adorned with fabricated mud,
A captive bird with a broken heart.
She bore him children, strong and bright,
Who carried Alaric's fictional grace,
Unknowing shadows in the fading light,
Of their ancestor's disgraced race.
One day, a traveler arrived,
His clothes were tattered, worn, and gray,
His eyes held stories, long survived,
Of distant lands, far, far away.
He sought an audience with the Lord,
A tale of woe he wished to tell,
A burden he could scarce afford,
A secret he had known so well.
He claimed to know Lord Alaric,
To have been his companion true,
He spoke of flight, of panic stark,
Of cowardice, a shameful view.
He described the peasant, laid to rest,
His sacrifice, a cruel charade,
He painted Alaric, coward confessed,
A king who ran, a heart betrayed.
Silas listened, cold and still,
The traveler's words, a poisoned dart,
The carefully constructed hill,
Of his identity, torn apart.
He summoned guards, with furious hand,
And had the traveler thrown in jail,
He banished truth from his command,
And doubled down upon the tale.
He locked the memory deep inside,
A festering wound that would not heal,
He plastered over, tried to hide,
The truth that threatened to reveal.
He spent his nights in fevered dreams,
Haunted by Alaric's fleeing face,
He heard the peasant’s silent screams,
And felt the burden of disgrace.
He pushed away Elara’s touch,
He saw the pity in her eyes,
He felt the emptiness so much,
Beneath the grand and noble guise.
His children looked to him with trust,
Their innocence, a stinging blow,
He knew their legacy unjust,
A kingdom built on lies, below.
One stormy night, the keep was struck,
By lightning's fiery, brutal might,
The ancient timbers groaned and bucked,
And darkness swallowed up the light.
A fire raged, consuming all,
The tapestries, the portraits grand,
The flames danced high, at duty's call,
A cleansing fire throughout the land.
Silas watched the inferno burn,
The gilded frames, now charred and black,
The secrets he had tried to spurn,
Released upon a fiery track.
He saw the traveler in his cell,
Engulfed in flames, a silent plea,
He heard the clanging, warning bell,
A final call to set him free.
He rushed into the burning keep,
Ignoring shouts, ignoring pleas,
He had a promise now to keep,
To break the chains, to find some ease.
He reached the cell, the door ablaze,
He freed the traveler, coughing, weak,
And led him through the fiery maze,
To truth's embrace, that he must seek.
They emerged, coughing, choked with smoke,
The keep collapsed, a smoldering heap,
The kingdom watched, their silence spoke,
Of secrets buried, buried deep.
Silas stood, no longer Lord,
But stripped bare to the bone, at last,
His fabricated life abhorred,
The gilded cage forever past.
He confessed the truth to all who heard,
The cowardice, the cruel deceit,
He spoke the damning, bitter word,
And faced the judgment he must meet.
Elara wept, her love reborn,
To see him finally standing free,
His tortured spirit, newly sworn,
To truth and honesty, eternally.
He abdicated, left his throne,
And wandered through the land unknown,
To seek forgiveness, to atone,
For lies he’d lived, for seeds he’d sown.
The traveler, whose name was Ben,
Became his guide, his trusted friend,
Together they would make amends,
And build a better world to tend.
So is it tolerable to live a lie?
The ballad whispers on the breeze,
The answer hangs against the sky,
A choice between truth and false ease.
For Silas found, in fiery pain,
That lies, however grand they seem,
Will ultimately drive you insane,
And shatter even the sweetest dream.
The ashes of the burned-down keep,
A testament to what can be,
When buried truths refuse to sleep,
And demand to be set free.
A life in truth, though hard and bare,
Is better than a gilded cage,
For only honesty can repair,
The damage done by lies of age.
The ballad ends, a somber tone,
A lesson learned in fire's glare,
That truth alone can make us known,
And free us from despair.
And only truth will help us share
A world built on justice that we dare.
Reliving the past can be a difficult dream
The attic dust, a sunbeam's gleam,
Illuminated faded seam
Of memories, long laid to rest,
A difficult dream, within my chest.
The key, tarnished, cold, and old,
A story whispered, yet untold,
Unlocking not a simple door,
But echoes of what was before.
I climbed the stairs, each creaking sound,
A phantom footstep on the ground,
The scent of lavender and age,
Upon life's fragile, yellowed page.
A trunk of leather, scarred and worn,
Where childhood hopes were gently born,
A doll with eyes of painted blue,
And dreams I thought would all come true.
Her porcelain face, a dusty white,
Reflected back the fading light,
A silent witness to the years,
To laughter, triumphs, and to tears.
I lifted her, a fragile weight,
And felt the sting of bitter fate,
The gulf that stretched, a boundless sea,
Between the child I used to be.
A stack of letters, tied with string,
Whispered of joys they used to bring,
From friends long gone, or drifted far,
Beneath life's ever-changing star.
The elegant script, a flowing hand,
From lovers in a distant land,
Their promises, a whispered vow,
Forgotten in the here and now.
I read each word, with bated breath,
A chilling touch of frozen death,
For promises, like autumn leaves,
Had withered on forgotten eaves.
A photograph, in silver frame,
Showed faces I could barely name,
My parents young, with hopeful eyes,
Beneath sunlit, summer skies.
Their laughter echoed in the air,
A joyous scene beyond compare,
But shadowed now by knowing glance,
Of life's relentless, cruel advance.
The lines etched deep upon their brow,
The silver threads that sparkle now,
Were hidden then, a future veiled,
A tapestry of joy and failed.
I saw myself, a laughing child,
With spirit free and unreconciled,
Unburdened by the weight of years,
Untouched by sorrows, doubts, and fears.
I reached to touch that vibrant face,
To feel again that childish grace,
But only met the cold hard glass,
A barrier I could not surpass.
A box of trinkets, small and bright,
Reflected back the fading light,
A seashell from a distant shore,
A memory I couldn't ignore.
He gave it to me, long ago,
Upon a beach where sea winds blow,
A boy I loved with all my heart,
Torn cruelly from my waiting start.
The ocean's roar, a mournful sound,
Where happiness was never found,
He sailed away, beyond the tide,
And left me weeping, deep inside.
The seashell held a whisper then,
Of love that could not rise again,
A constant echo of the past,
A wound that time could never cast.
A faded diary, bound in blue,
Revealed the thoughts I thought were true,
The secrets whispered in the night,
The dreams that burned with youthful light.
I turned the pages, one by one,
And felt the pain of battles won,
And lost, the triumphs and defeats,
The bitter taste of life's deceits.
The words I wrote with fervent hand,
A yearning for a promised land,
A world of beauty, truth, and grace,
That time and circumstance erased.
I saw my hopes, so pure and bright,
Extinguished by the darkest night,
The innocence that slowly died,
Beneath life's unforgiving tide.
A wedding dress, of ivory lace,
Displayed in solitary space,
A symbol of a love betrayed,
A future shattered, hopes decayed.
I wore it once, with joyful pride,
Beside the man I'd hoped to hide,
And shelter from the world's harsh storm,
But he was false, his love lukewarm.
He left me standing at the altar,
My dreams collapsing, start to falter,
The dress became a shroud of pain,
A constant reminder of the stain.
I touched the fabric, soft and worn,
And felt the pricking of a thorn,
The bitterness of broken trust,
Reduced to ashes, dust to dust.
The attic air grew thick and cold,
As memories began to unfold,
A tapestry of joy and pain,
A bittersweet and haunting refrain.
The past, a siren, beckoned near,
Whispering secrets in my ear,
Of lives lived fully, then denied,
Of dreams that faded, hopes that died.
But dwelling there, I realized then,
Would only make me less of men,
I can embrace the future's call,
And rise above the painful thrall.
The ghosts of yesterday still cling,
To every heart, to everything,
But they can't hold me, if I choose,
To break the chains and life confuse.
I closed the trunk, with gentle hand,
And left the past in that lost land,
The attic's secrets, safe and sound,
Where memories forever abound.
I walked downstairs, into the light,
A different person, strong and bright,
The difficult dream, now put to rest,
A newfound peace within my breast.
For reliving past can be a quest,
A dangerous and selfish test,
To learn from pain and move ahead,
And leave the shadows with the dead.
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