Like the irritating buzzing of a fly
Like the monotymy of day
Unchanged black on white
Shadow and shade follow me.
Will the same fall from grace
Happen again? Or will similar
moments find us weeping sleeping
And just not occur? 
Day passes day as we drift away
Months pass until an action occurs,
Playing in the theatre of the absurd,
Tomorrow will bloom into day
Before death comes this way, again.