On Morals

Shading

I'm looking for lines,
But all I see is gradient
I see the black
I see the white
But I can't tell where they meet.
Beneath a haze the shadows blur
Like my vision.
The line is there
But it's growing fuzzy
Black becomes grey
Grey becomes white
Seamlessly in my eyes.
Which is dark?
Which is light?
Is the line moving
Or am I?
My hands are black
Charcoal stained by blurring the lines
The masterful delicate strokes,
Spreading the black across the page
Filling the sheet
Completely with gray
Darker here
Lighter there
But all grey.
Form and contrast disappear
And the beauty is lost
What is truth?
And where does it lie?
Is it found in the white
Or revealed by the black?
Or maybe
Truth is in the line
The line I've tried so hard to hide.
But it still exists
And it must be found.
So when I walk in the grey
I'll follow the light
To turn from the dark
And maybe, somehow find a line.