It’s a different kind of black
You swear you’re seeing shapes in mist
But surely this is manifest
Of all that you resist

It’s a different kind of blue
(When you are) feeling like you’ve lost
Or maybe you’re just lost
But surely there’s a cost

It’s a different kind of voice
When everybody gets you down
By trying to revive you
When they see you skipping town

But it’s a different kind of lost
When you are outside looking in
And pure intentions can’t relate
To the grey you’re drowning in

It’s a muted — boom… boom… boom…
A sheltered, transient wave
You have to listen closely, but
You’ll feel it miles away

And it never really leaves you
It’s the whited-noise-covered thoughts
That sometimes soothe your very soul
But sometimes give you knots

And management is government is life is redirection…
But take as gospel, friend
That life, itself, is resurrection


“We are each other’s harvest; we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.” ― Gwendolyn Brooks


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