Sleepless nights, wondering what comes s next.
Everything's new now, so what is right?

Nothing I've done before now, counts anymore.
It is all fresh now, and I let it all go

The newness comes from somewhere of it's own, now.
I know not from whence,

And yet I know that it's alright now - this poem,
I call "Newness" (Some, I think, call it "life")?