How often can you document the sun as it sets repeating, many times over, the glorious feeling it evokes. Now or when. Are you not observant of the decay and dissolution of our world, as it is now, or was then? Reminders play tricks when you ignore unmistakable sight.
I have read poets whom write of rust and common deterioration, oxidation, degradation, felt day by day. Poems of love, what once was, left now to suffer the elements. Can you not feel what they believe? Has the façade been contaminated by life itself, or is the sun too bright for you to notice.
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