A fool

 Am I but the fool, who in front of the sun and moon spend his time judging their lights?
When was it that I lost the tranquility of the placid sky, the easiness of life?
Who am I today but a confused spectre of a body form, half of a self-recognized earth child...
Who everyday turns into a charm, targeting a labyrinth of mirrors?
When will I, while alive, set again in the sheets of grace?

Confusion still hangs on the neck of awareness.