The Good Days And The Bad, And The Days I’m Simply Here

In the darkness of the night
There’s the beauty of the light
In the silence of the storm
There’s resilience of my soul

There’s the cropper of my time
In the blossom of my dreams
In the rustle of my leaves
In the ardor of my veins
In the coldness of what remains

There’s the rose hidden on old shelves
There’s the photo of the good old days
There’s the record of our song
And there’s the harmony of home

There are good days which seem untouched
There are bad days which are made to go
There are days that have a meaning
There are days in which I write poetry
There are days in which I am poetry
There are days in which I am

Here
Living
Being.