Ebbing and flowing in an endless struggle
The horizon and reality
Most days, far away, but some, dangerously close
On those days, the white of horizon encroaches
Trying to take, itching to eat
The sound of static, disguised as rain
Consuming all other sounds
Reality, though, puts up a fight
Emboldening the colors of the surroundings
As if to say “I’m real, I cannot be destroyed”
The battle ebbs and flows until the horizon again recedes off into the distance
To fight again another day