Gray

The gray in the midst of the longwinded way shows no path forward but invites me to lose my assumed control. Short on breath, I go on without the touch of my own. There is no right side to see, there is no right side to take. All covered in gray. There is all the good to all the bad, no soul is clean without a gray spot in its ethereal hair. Why does the black and white only come when we desire and care?