am an invisible
can feel me.
I lash out.
further and further
trying to grasp,
I am reaching,
through my own,
am an invisible,
from the world.
of that wish,
there are those,
in the open.
at the ground
of their soul.
to the world.
I'd like to dedicate this to a friend.
I never actually knew him.
He was a character.
In a book.
He didn't deserve to die at such a young age.
No one deserves to die at 17.
He was witty and quick with a response.
Careful, dedicated, and
He also loved a girl.
You probably don't understand me right now.
This is just words to you.
Well ficional characters have an impact on lives of everyone who knows them.
I am proud to call Augustus Waters one of my friends
even though he isn't a real person.
But keep in mind...
The World Is Not A Wish Granting Factory.
As I look into the beast's eyes
I see anger, sorrow, and hatred
I think to myself ,
Derived mad by its own thoughts
Then I take one more at it and realize
It was just my reflection
Every second of every minute of
every hour of everyday,
I feel the pain growing stronger and
stronger inside of me.
Many have suffered,
no one has survived
For this is a battle you cannot win.
You cannot fight it,
all you can do is lie back and watch
as you lose yourself,
Until there's nothing left to save,
just an empty shadow,
And a trail of broken dreams.
with red teeth.
from my hand,
my vision is gone
leaving my eye,
Some days are satisfying
filled with relief and continuity.
Others, drown in suspension and longing.
One moment of expressions and song
leaves one lovestruck and powerless against the stable flow of life and love.
Yet no seeker lies between them.
Fairness and wishes
must not be given...
all the time.
Observing with anger and wishful thoughts
but knowing that the bond can never be broken between two long lasting ropes.
Moving on to new beginnings can throw one's mind into haywire,
but the fait is not changed.
He walked alone, amidst the snow. His grimy bare feet dragged behind, tinged with the sorrow of a deep blue. It was more then just despair now; it was hatred of what had become of his life. It could have been different. The future could have flourished, beckoning to him with open arms. His life could have had meaning, but his hope had been crushed long ago.
He attempted to stare into the window of his past home. At the story he could’ve portrayed. But his pages were blank. None cared of his beginning, or ending. He was met only by a disheveled reflection, as he peered into the window. A greasy unwashed beard hid his face from the world, and a porous hat shielded the rest. Year old paper-thin clothes hid the tarnished skin beneath, caused by years of hatred, regret, sorrow, and resentment. Resentment to the world that turned its back on him, resentment for the one mistake the cost him his job, his house, and his life, and resentment for himself.
Again he tried to look through the window, at the life taken so easily from his grasp. Inside was a family, huddled together in a soft blanket, drinking steaming hot chocolate next to a blazing hearth. Flames licked the top of the fireplace, dancing with jubilation.
Frozen with grief, he continued to stand, petrified by the complete and utter realization that his life would never change. As his unmovable bare feet collapsed under him, he fell towards his own blanket, one without color. His life story came to his mind, but it was not a tale worth recalling. His crust-covered eyes lay open, as he turned on his back. He wanted his last memory, unlike so many others to be a radiant one. Flecks of white fell against a blackened sky. His mind and eyes laid a daze, as the last of his breathe floated from a lifeless body.
pulses through my body,
reaching the depths of my heart.
fills my eyes,
sweet voices and whimpering tones
arise from across where I lay
Where am I?
the idea occurs
with No answer.
Who am I?
I jerk my head up
with no identity
I find myself,
whoever I am,
under soft woolen sheets,
crystal white walls
peoples cries echo
from the light wooden door,
“You fell off a roof.”
The Righteous and The Malevolent
clear water, turbid water
flows, no longer flows.
radiating the harmony,
harmony, the peace,
peace. is no more.
children play children do not play
beside the river, beside the river.
they sing, laughter no longer rings
they dance, through the meadow.
they laugh, footsteps,
they drink. fall silent,
in the dead grass.
in the meadow, the stories are gone.
while fantasies vanished,
unravel. with the children
tales of princes, who once
of princesses, spoke of them.
forever more, has become
the water flows. frostbitten.
emanating harmony, no longer
and peace. a sense of happiness,
the children play emanating harmony,
beside the river. or peace.
they dance, children do not play,
they laugh, beside the river.
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