between
the fog billowing
and clouds hanging
i cannot seem to
separate the gray
above from the
gray below

i prefer pastels
pinks and lavender
sea green and
robin egg blue
the same shades
which once stained
my fingers as i
dyed eggs as a child
now hues of passions
died in silent suffering

winter has just
begun to run her icy
fingers down the
shuddering spine
of the lone star state
and i dream of spring
and second chances
in the soul of rebirth

the only thing which
remains unchanging is
how quickly things
inevitably change
which is paradoxical
in a most unsettling
sense of familiarity
where i wonder as
i wander wearily alone
if i oscillate in time
with universal despair
or if it fumbles along
in synchronicity with me

lost in between
fogbanks and cloud cover
draped in a gray malaise
from head to toe
which seems to percolate
along with dreamdander delusion
in three quarter time