Confusion

The light fades spectacularly into night,
saving its finest colors for last.
You sit, as you have all day,
and watch the change from afar,
breathing the air as it changes
from warm to December cold,
breathing in the darkness at it approaches.

Soon it will be dark again
and you will not be able to tell friend from foe.
Everything will look the same
as the battle begins again, the struggle
to know what is and what is imagined
as you stumble your way home.

About this poem. 

Truth? It’s hard stuff to find. It shouldn’t be, but it is. It takes more patience than most of us have.

Tom