Winter Wonderland

I once lived in bliss, as if a cloud floating in the sky,

But one day I was forced from my home.

It then became a distant memory, a lost file.

Then, there was only the fall and the cursèd groans.

Others from my home fell with me, and many would cry,

"Why? For what purpose have the stitches of our lives been sewn?

Who dictates these events, and when will our tears dry?"

Some tried to answer but I did not; I simply fell without any word or protest.

During the journey from my home there was much chaos.

I looked left and right and watched my friends burn,

As it became much hotter than my home was.

I looked up and down and saw my friends blown,

And ripped to shreds by the fierce gusts.

Soon the many became the few, and the protests were heard more:

“Who dictates these events, and why must our gold rust?"

Some tried to answer but I did not; I simply fell without any word or protest.

Eventually I could see the ground, and the screams of the others around me.

The fall was coming to an end, and it seemed that even after this fall there is winter.

As I closed my eyes, I waited for the inevitable end, yet death seemed to let me be.

The piles of bodies around me softened my fall, and allowed my flame to flicker.

The survivors began to call out for their families, but unfortunately,

Paralyzation is the disease of the survivors. I heard them roar,

“Who dictates these events, and why aren’t we free?”

Some tried to answer, but I did not; I simply watched without any word or protest.

I have now sat in the pile of the dead for three months.

I have seen my friends thrown into the air by growling machines,

And every day I can feel even more the warmth of the sun.

But now I feel the burning spreading throughout my being.

I hear the others’ screams and grunts,

“Help me, I can’t feel my body. I’m burning up and I can’t see anything!

Who dictates these events, and why can’t we triumph?”

Only I am left to answer, but I can’t; I simply fade away without any word or protest.

Silence

Why is it that we always feel strange
when there is no sound?
Have we become so strangled by noise
That we cannot stand quiet in a crowd.
Even by oneself, you hear a wide range
Of rhythmic patterns or ones of cacophonic poise.
Society rushes and makes din so constantly, that we only feel comfortable when it's loud.

Yet what is truly precious is the silence.
People need to learn how to appreciate quietness
As they often feel breaking it to be a necessity.
Quietness is a time of pensiveness,
It is where you become entranced with remembrance.
There are no cares or dangers in this serenity,
And people need to learn to enjoy the and precious moments of silence, rather than find them and grimace.

Silence is when your other senses are at their strongest
You feel more, vividly remember the touch, the smell, the beauty, and the emotions of the moment.
Silence is not awkward, it is what you will cherish the longest.

Cracked

I am not the person I was 4 years ago


I still don't know if that's good or bad though

Am I sponge, only leaking what others have said or done

or am I gone, am i absent?

What have I become?


Before I would never give up, but now I am done.

The only thing I can do is break the glass of life and run run run.

Have I begun, is this for Coach Munn, it doesn't feel fun.

But it is for approval, of a man that is dead

It is for the inspiration to escape from dread.

I will always relent, no matter what is sent

to stop my attempt to become a dent

in the course of humanity, not for reasons of vanity,

but because I believe I can be free to choose charity

without remembrance over selfishness and celebrance.


Cogito ergo sum. Those who don't think are doomed.

Nothing but my mind can stop me. People might drop me because I won't not be

some one that doesn't have a copy. No difference, in life I've found the key.

Though the road may be rocky, I don't drive fast and cocky,

I prepare, I dare, I watch, I listen, I stare,

I don't care, if my life goes unnoticed,

I will die bare, and all I do will affect us in the greatest

way, each and every day. I will work and work and I won't play,

until I make a crack, a dent, a hole, one that will last, one that will stay.

Serenity

You sit near a fountain in the middle of the mountains. The sun's warmth blazes upon you, relaxing every muscle. You close your eyes, and just listen to the beauty of sounds nearby. You hear the sound of birds, tweeting rhythmically around you. You hear the chatter of other people; laughing, singing, talking, and the sound of splashing in the water. You open your eyes, and your vision has never seemed so perfect. Everything around seems to emit its own radiance: every sign, every face, pure beauty. You see colors more vivid than ever. The beautiful, green mountains in the distance seem to beckon. They call you to become as majestic, to grow as high. You take in a breath, the air feels fresh and clean. Its as if you had been stuck in smog your whole life, then suddenly it vanished. You feel the breeze against your skin, the warmth of the sun emanating unto your entirety. You close your eyes, and just listen. To the sound of water, falling from the skies. As it taps the ground, in a slow, constant pattern, your mind drifts off. It slowly lulls you into your dreams.

Beauty

I see the moon and the sun. 
But both have become one.
 The starry skies are on the face, 
of a beauty with which none can keep pace.
 A smile that causes floods, 
and cleans up all the muds.

 So soft to the touch, 
the wind will blow the cotton back up,
 and it flies, soaring above all.
 Catch a butterfly with a net, but first make it fall
 just a little closer, 
and all you can do is hope for 
a chance to join her. 
To fly with the butterfly, way up there.

The Hunt

In the forest comes near, a hunter, to a deer.
The hunter admires its grace, its beauty, but fears,
That the beauty will flee, as if a girl from a mouse.
Or that she senses him, and feels annoyed, as if the hunter was a louse.

The hunter loves the deer and seeks what he gives in return,
Before he strings his bow and fires past the ferns
To strike the deer, straight through the heart,
And in turn the arrow goes through his own, which will slowly fall apart.

When he sees the deer his heart beats faster
Sweat drips from his palms, as from a spoon, does batter,
And his face begins to turn the color of the sunrise,
Reflecting her beauty, the sun only tries.

But then his throat closes he cringes,
And  every shot, the hunter misses.
Yet it is so beautiful, the deer.
Never getting it, the hunter drops a tear.

Never Enough

I walked to the sea.
There you could find none but me.
I went to a bar.
No glue, no clips, and no tar
Could hold me still.

I ate from wealth.
Taking all the money I could to try to help.
I ate from nature.
Yet even with all the money, foods, and furs,
My appetite would never fill.

I learnt from books.
I read of all the authors and their works.
I learnt from streets.
Yet even with all the knowledge in the world, urban, Roman or Greek,
I still know nothing, and have no skills.

Lost

Lost
Into my home, you, I receive.
But the sparkling eyes and ragged clothes decieve.
I hear your story, and I believe.
Yet it is not the tongue of a preacher but that of a thieve.

My possessions and things I care not to retrieve,
But one lost to me, broken, restrained and not freed
When you left I could do naught but grieve,
For my heart is a soldier that will never be on leave.

Rejection

I feel as if I am an outcast, living in a hell which I can no longer bear. I wish to make better the situation, but as the moment comes all I have is fear. And from my eye would come a tear, if it didn't exile me further from others.
But its as if I'm stuck halfway down a cliff trying to get back up, and the only hope for survival is to leap for a rope hanging down the side, unsure of whether it's fixed or if I'll fall straight to your death. Into a hell worse than the one in which I began.
I'm a blind man in a burning building, and people tell me to jump. A deaf man in a church and I'm trying to sing. A diver that thinks the water is shallow, and a skydiver in the time between pulling the chord and the chute coming out.
A thief that realizes he will be caught. A flower, waiting for the winter to come and end me. A bird before adulthood alone in its nest. I've No hope, no chance, but to spread my wings and jump.