A Certain Point of View

There is a certain point of view
When looking at the sun
Through the edges of a parasol
When nothing that was right is set askew
In such a way that it seems alright
When the weather fades and collides with the dust
The particles that sprinkle in the delicate light
A show of dancers sprinkling sugar upon the concrete
As water ebbs and water flows
The cold winds that capture the top of the coolant
That breaks upon the cheeks of men like knives upon the skin
When the weary world hurtles itself like a stone
A stone of massive sizes
When underneath its immense pressure
A breath cannot be taken
When it all seems faded now
But underneath the parasol
Covered by the tarped surface
Protected from the army of rains
That pitter patter pattern of sounds
Pounding piously upon the fabric
Where no one can see perfectly
Only  askew and that's okay
Because even the darkest days look a little bit nicer
Beneath the shield of a parasol.