It's pitch-black. It's moonless. It's starless.
Bleak & grim.
It's gloomy. It's dusky. It's shadowy.
You're always in doubt.
This place is awfully familiar. I've been here before.
You walk & you talk... in the dark.
Flash.
You look up. See the light.
The light has become a distant memory.
"Light"
You're in doubt.
This place is awfully familiar. I've been here before.
Inhale. Exhale.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Rushes From The Heart
You disappoint me sometimes.
I thought you would try.
Try again.
Try harder.
You give in. Just like everyone else.
We grow older & the passion of the rebellious teenager leaves us.
This is your story.
Having it easy will give no story.
The things you fight for defines you
Hold on to that nice dream, even if it hurts.
Time flies by.
At least you'd then know you didn't give up.
At least you'd then know that there's nothing that you left undone.
You'll be there.
And I'll be here.
And we'll have our story to tell.
I thought you would try.
Try again.
Try harder.
You give in. Just like everyone else.
We grow older & the passion of the rebellious teenager leaves us.
This is your story.
Having it easy will give no story.
The things you fight for defines you
Hold on to that nice dream, even if it hurts.
Time flies by.
At least you'd then know you didn't give up.
At least you'd then know that there's nothing that you left undone.
You'll be there.
And I'll be here.
And we'll have our story to tell.
The Pheonix Inside
If this not Love, it's Madness
I am melancholy when thou art absent;
look like an ass when thou art present;
wake for thee, when I should sleep,
and even dream of thee. When I am awake...
If this is not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable...
look like an ass when thou art present;
wake for thee, when I should sleep,
and even dream of thee. When I am awake...
If this is not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable...
William Congreve
(1670-1729)
(1670-1729)
Tongue-tied
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Mess It Up
Mind drifting.
Somewhere else.
Where I'm not. But I'd rather be.
Slow.
Fast.
You blink. It takes time.
You give in.
Head relaxed.
And the tree is staring back at you.
Twirl.
Your mind drifts again.
New ride.
It's a beautiful tree.
No traps this time.
What's in is what's out.
And twirl.
Somewhere else.
Where I'm not. But I'd rather be.
Slow.
Fast.
You blink. It takes time.
You give in.
Head relaxed.
And the tree is staring back at you.
Twirl.
Your mind drifts again.
New ride.
It's a beautiful tree.
No traps this time.
What's in is what's out.
And twirl.
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