Of living, breathing,
getting by.
The confusion lacks the luster of promise.
Of answers.
I remember being young, seeing in brightest colors.
Now there's grey.
What changes?
My view or the world.
Both?
It's strange.
It seems the day is always begining.
It's perspective I suppose.
Then it's night.
The darkness is ageless; and it too
always begining.
Always ending.
Dawn and Dusk are one.
It's all in how you look.
On the slant...it's comfort.