The light is strange this morning,
not quite bright, not quite rainy,
colors bright but off somehow.
It is the times we live in.
Things are broken, yet somehow
your lenses tainted and tinted
and you are forced to find beauty
in the midst of uncertainty.
About this poem.
Strange times. Uncertain times. Has been for a while. Will be for a while.
But beauty persists. And joy. Simply colored differently.