The days end up going soft around the corners

A little blurry

Or maybe that’s my vision going bad

Because I spend too much time

Staring at the sun

Though the sun is needed

To grow, survive, breathe

The shadows are trying to encroach

But the sun is always there

It rises with a blur in the mornings now

And I can’t really tell, but the moon seems reluctant

And the sun seems hesitant

And the nighttime bleeds into the day until you can’t tell which is which

Time is mushy; what is what is hard to determine

Astronomers and astrologers alike

Neither can say

Everything is too soft

And the world’s corners seep into the patterns of the galaxy

Blacks and blues all become soft

But is soft really the right word?

The people don’t know and it makes them restless

Looking for a solution that only leads to more problems

Eventually you can’t tell which is which

Problem, solution

Are all the same

They’ve gone soft, the people and their ideas

Or maybe that’s my vision going bad

Maybe the people mean well

But my sunburnt eyes interpret it differently

Maybe different isn’t okay

I can’t tell anymore

I’ve gone too soft