Untitled poem

He watches them with eyes that do not see,
But a mind that paints,
The colours of the whistling wind,
And the grey waves that crash,
From the open sea,
The whirling, turning seagulls that cry,
Far up in the stormy blue sky,
In a distance he hears them play,
The dogs that have changed his way,
When the darkness claimed,
The once colourful world he knew.

~Rei Shiori