Amongst the hues of life’s dues

I’m always

balancing the blues of my father’s rules

like we juggle our past stories

against our future’s blueprints

or one sage opinion

against another’s foolishness

only to tread the current of fate

like 13 grains of resilience

to one ounce truth

our sweet essence of holistic turbulence

or the pliancy of justice, its recoil and snaps

and lately I’ve begun wondering

if you’re trying to tell me to pushback

we used to talk all night

and do things alone together

and I’ve begun to ponder

(as a reaction to a feeling I’ve pulled from the well of memories)

unprescribed like a smuggled drug

like the premature birth of the sunset at 3:00pm

I found balance to our circus:

the pleasure of loneliness

against the bitterness of facing the moonlight without you

of loving, despite my place as a work in progress.