There are evens—
and then there are odds.
Though what is odd to some
may be even to others.
Between the rights
and the wrongs,
of that which is short
to that which is long—
of the beginnings
and of the ends,
sometimes an up,
but most times a down—
to the sky above,
and the ground below,
to where I am lost
until I am found...
though still alone.
I try to find the evens
between all the odds—
but all I could find
were the stars in the sky.
And I suppose it makes sense,
the evens and the odds—
how one cannot exist
without the other,
how happiness cannot thrive
without sorrow by its side,
and how death seems to come
only to those
who were once alive.
The evens and the odds.
The ups and the downs.
The lefts and rights.
The darkness and the light—
all seem to shine
so very bright...