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Artist
In twilight halls where truth stands still,
And words bend softly to the will,
We walk the line of shaded air—
A realm where shadows meet the fair.
Black humour, sharp as tempered blade,
Laughs at the dark we once obeyed;
It steals the sting from hidden fears,
And turns despair to brittle cheers.
White lies, as light as whispered breath,
Guard tender hearts from needless death;
A gentle cloak of muted grace
Laid over sorrow’s trembling face.
Yet life unfolds in muted tones,
Where right and wrong are rolling stones;
Not black nor white, but layered skies
Where mercy lives and judgement lies.
So pause before the jest you cast—
Ensure it heals and does not blast;
And weigh each lie with careful art—
Does it deceive, or shield a heart?
For wisdom blooms where colours blend,
Where motives meet and paths ascend;
And in those grey, uncertain ways
We learn the craft of honest stays.
May laughter lift and never bruise,
And softened truths no trust abuse;
For in discerning what we say,
We prove our worth in light and grey.