What makes a day?
The death of a moment, Or the birth of another?
Is it the silence of a troubled heart?
Or the trouble of a silenced heart?

What makes a day?
Is it the belief, or the unbelievable belief?
The angel of a day?
Or the devil of a cross road moment?
The thought of yesterday?
Or the grace to think there is an imperfect today?
Maybe the hope of begging for tomorrow?

The philosophy of death
The astronomy of life
The polymorphism of a police-minded banker

Will all these make a day?
Can we actually live a well spiced day?
Or are we just bringing a dead day to live?
What makes a day?