It seems
as if...
we are always
living in the fog.
Inhabitants
of the mist.
Subsisting
on a diet of
vagaries.
Two shadows
who obliquely
recognize
each other's
silhouette.
We see...
the amorphous mass
of generic
humanity,
but are
unable
to grasp
the essential
specifics.
Steeping in our
grey existence...
and all the while,
waiting for
the sun.
Deborah Harvey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/grey-20/
