Inside the heart lies my death. One wrong move, and I shall no longer exist. Funny to think that something as small as the heart controls life and death.
If life is a gift,
Why do we allow
For it to be squandered
Over the petty details and trivial matters?
There is much more
To life than monotonous routines,
The revolving door that humanity
Fall into, never seeing better
Things and experiencing greater
Feelings and pleasures.
If life is a gift,
Why let it fade away?
This is a poem from my book, The Curious Case of the Blossoming Clouds. This poem, like most that I write are abstract in nature with clear messages.
The Depths of the Color Blue
While the young and old
May be different in many ways,
With the young being bold
And the old becoming gray,
Each has ways they benefit,
And ways they falter.
Both are like bodies of water;
The young being a rapid,
Fast and destructive, but becomes confused and falters
When faced by a lake that is placid.
The rapid is shallow,
With little history beneath,
While the lake is mellow
With plenty of history in its depths.
The history beneath the deep blue
Offers wisdom to the world,
Willing to offer the rapids a clue
To life and to help mold
That rapid into a future lake.
The lake has gone through life
In various phases, willing to make
Changes to themselves because of the strife
They have suffered. Yet they mustered,
And managed to live through hardships
Presented by life, sometimes flustered,
But never losing their grips.
The rapids have much to learn,
Their decisions are fast, without thought,
Unafraid of the consequential burn
That accompanies their lust.
Their lust for becoming more
Often sends them to a dead end;
The rapid can no longer grow
And becomes dead.
If the rapid follows nature’s course,
That rapid will transform into more,
A placid being with force.
Time is the ultimate foe,
It sends the waves of transformation
Into the lakes and rapids,
As they are powerful creations
That eventually succumb to the acids
That time has made.
The ocean is where all of history lies.
The Bones of Humanity
The bright sun shines
Onto my empty body,
A body trapped in the confines
Of a hollow soul; a zombie
Roaming this hollow society,
Hoping to feel complete,
But always feeling anxiety
For always feeling empty.
Often times we meet those who are hollow and empty, who follow the norm instead of following the forgotten trail. Instead of opening their eyes to the world and seeing the wonders that are held, majority of society has decided to keep their eyes sewn shut.
It is simple to see with blind eyes,
Eyes that belong to a hollow and empty heart;
It is easy to go where darkness glows,
But the true light is invisible from the blind
Souls that wander in reality, this purgatorial society.
Once again, more riots have begun and people attempt to disguise them as protests. People do not listen to the facts. Assumptions are made and balances are disrupted. Fights break out and more lives are lost. Loss is an upsetting fact of life, but a necessary one. Once colors are mentioned, people immediately decide without any knowledge. However, this is not a matter of colors, it is a matter of humanity and judgement, of human to human violence. The soul of humanity keeps being destroyed as hate continues to fester. The longer that this continues the more eroded that the definition of humanity fades away.
The Problem of Colors
Once a balance of colors is lost,
Harm comes to fall on most
Of society, victims of being
Between the violence, seeing
The horrors that color brings,
Making the Reaper gleefully sing
As he collects and sends souls
Down into hell’s holes.
As hatred festers and brews
It seems to be simply amused
By the colors that damage all of humanity,
A society of damnation as all are at fault,
No one group can be blamed in entirety,
For the color spectrum is all to blame.
The Lost Delicate: a poem about I have no clue because this is just something random that I will be doing in less than 10 minutes.
A soft and innocent treasure
Was left alone and unsure
About life; naive and sweet,
With eyes of pure hope.
There was no preparation
For the unforgivable damnation
That followed the innocent child
Into a awful and wild
World. Bright eyes and large hearts
Get damaged in a world full
Of empty souls and demon eyes.
It actually only took 5 minutes to write this full poem.