A day is a mountain.
On one, greenery, shrubs, life.
On another, a winter death.
A day is a circus.
There could be a clown, happiness.
Or just the sad notes of a forgotten singer.
A day is a street.
Sky-touched buildings and their apostles
While people lay dying on the ground.
A day is a man.
Well intentioned, he strives, he seeks,
He yields that which he never wants.
NOTE: One of the poems I'm most proud of, after I thought about how conflicting life is. It was written in the afternoon.