Some Type of Maze

Something grey plagues the soul; and something green
Whispers soft. A ship is sailing deception; and I’m a motive.
How not perish—this journey. Beauty was too grand;
And silence too proper. Thus, a vocal pose; and blackish
Heart—to float the winds. How not perish—this journey;
And so many eyes, pleading mercy. I spoke of pain, my
Darkest stir: I spoke of joy, my greyest envy: the soul danced;
And life was light. How not perish—this journey: the rage of
Brown eyes; and such burgundy, a bleeding wit. To sit and
Conjure foul: such infection; and false smiles, a common
Sketch. My so black and white: a war for grey; but certain
Pain, a blatant storm; and certain wars, the hand of fate.
How not perish—this journey: the scent of chitlins; and how
Torn to please, a crooked mind.