He Poem by chris dawson

Perspectives, like the weather, change

the light upon his day,

the winds of mood blow random clouds

and all they can convey

is rained upon his very views,

opaquely focus stares,

when suddenly the sun breaks though

and takes him unawares.

The warmly radiating glow

makes all around him clear,

so every thought that can sail by

is as it may appear.

Confidence then grows within,

to forecast all his deeds;

those storms upon horizons seem

merely the due proceeds

of extremes in contemplation,

where observation can relate,

accept the ever changing day,

adapt to its climate.

And so extreme conditions

are best suited to his kind,

but who'd predict that whether it

won't, in time, erode his mind.