No assurance, with an azure sky.
in cobalt when blown in.
A contrasting hue.
My souls conflict only slightly subdued.
All my changes still ahead of an unsteady mind.
Neither a twitch.
a nervous tic,
mine to refine.
Hopefully nothing but an admonishing sign.
Protected society of timbered blunders.
In the woods designed to comfort.
Not in the least,
an easy role to play.
The earthy meandering fool.
Vicarious living outside the rules.
But somehow, fitting just right.
A game of chance with this thing called, life.