Your color; my color; colors of the world;
color blind; what is the color of blindness;
what color is the night…
Gray
Gray is
indistinguishable,
Muted,
goes on forever,
unheard.
Gray is the portraited photograph
of family members
unknown, unremembered.
Gray is the gelding of
day to night,
sky to sea to earth.
Gray is the blurring of horizons,
smearing, smudging
judgments and forgivenesses.
Gray, the world is gray,
like shed snake skin,
or firecracker dust.
Gray like old animal hide,
powdered wigs,
emptied sacks.
Gray as your time piece,
or your mother’s old made up face,
gray as my depression.
Randy Mazie
The Writer's Village 
Interesting that you chose gray with an “a” — I always have to pause when I’m using the word to think if I writing about grAy or grEy. is there a difference for you?
I notice the difference, too – and I like grAy better than grEy. I see grAy in myriad forms; for some reason, I only see grEy clouds. grEy is too concrete for me. But that it is me… grAyly yours, rAndy