The dawn is inevitable and so is the night.

There are colors left untasted, 

scents that have not been heard, 

and thoughts that have not been kissed.

Is it not a matter of perspective or must I labor to what end?

Vexed on this endeavor, I find little resolve.
'Tis a losing brawl this one-sided street has become.

Lead not the wanderer astray from things hoped for.

Home. Companions. Roots. Love..

And so the doors begin to close as the unceasing eyes still hungers.

Has the colors left my palates curious?
Will I never be moved by the smells that strike many a chord?

Or, perhaps, the musings of a little boy cannot handle


an acquaintance with romance.

Still.  

The page turns..