This



Sorting the black from white in grey areas
Overloading static
Meddling in the mediocre
These amazing gifts
Of a blind soul
As if dead without
And dying within
Of pointless memories
Of made up futures

Hanging branches await in a distance
Out of sight
Over the waters swaying in a blissful breeze

How gracious the grey in this art
Where all things heal again
Without sorting
And where meddling and mediocre
Finds its glory

Again

This…