How shall I describe the swaying of life?
A life lost, a life found.
A life turning, a life spinning.

Life bends and swirls, bucks and kicks or sometimes just lays dormant, placid.
It lifts and sores like an eagle proudly on its wings when it suddenly falls out of the sky shot down by the bullets of despair.

All those colours in the early morning light turns in to shades of grey. Grey, the colour of ash, ashes in which the remnants of dreams linger, the faint glow of smouldering coals of burnt down hopes and expectations.

Is it the start of something new? A new beginning, a new dawn creating new colours. Or is it the sign of the inevitable demise of a life lost?

Answering questions that cannot be answered, yet must be resolved, processed like ore in a kiln. Forged by the hammers of guilt and lust, hardened and sharpened like a sword. A sword for slicing and cutting, harming all in its way without discrimination. Friend and foes alike.

Perhaps eventually gently softened by love and compassion. Turning the crisp blade into a summer breeze in a smiling face.