Between the white and black are the infinite shades of gray that fill my path.
The early dawn I see through my mask casts these shadows in the light…
the jejune types of my present and past, feeling so hither, not yon.
And through the murky lens, coated from the cool mist from the clouds above,
glazing the road ahead, I see another Groundhog Day,
from which there is no turning back, only trading kindnesses
from the boundless between the white and black.
