A day is spent in wanton ways
In a way so timeless I forget to count my days,
So much to say with actions soon to follow
I can’t complain when the sun sets on sorrow,
If I am allowed the honour of capturing spontaneous merriment
Then it is with great fervour that I confront my impediments.
Upon the edifice of yet another challenge
A day is housed in absolute balance,
No anomalies, no complaints, no wrongs, no rights
A day’s full sunshine can be the darkest known light.
It all happens before it is even conceived
And outcomes are rejected before they have even been received.
Not much is believed when living no longer matches the story
When riches and rags are conceived of poorly,
When happiness is so good it’s gory
And morbid heals your wounds sorely.
A day is more than enough for one to become reborn
Into self realisation that cracks like dawn,
For there is nothing that can contain the acquisitiveness of want
Encouraged by the clumsiness of the intellect rendered blunt,
Still searching such effort is the breathe of the day
In a way just a chance to try again…