Reality Has No Colour

Faces carved from
Rock granite.

Rats as big
As a man's hand
With feet so nimble
The can pick locks
In seconds.

Mosaics,
Once the colour of life
At birth
Filled with hope
And anticipation for the unknown,
But now,
They look grimly out,
Reflecting the faces it sees.
Faces gray
With fatigue,
With nothingness,
Except the program
That they have chosen
To follow.

Colours, man,
Where are the colours?
Right, left, straight ahead,
Blue, black and other somber colours
Swallow me whole.
But wait,
Could it be
That it is my eyes
That dare to deceive me?

Could it be that
Somewhere between
My eyes and brain,
The colours of life
Have seeped away?
Or is it just that
Reality has no colour?