Fragments

everything is falling apart – the shackles at the seams.
I can’t seem where to stop, find myself somewhere in this room.
Is this really what existance is, some sort of biological reaction?
Isn’t there something more MAGICAL to it?

We need to learn how to espace, maybe look within from outside ourselves.
And how do we do that? With insufficient harmful aids, or just time?
It is here where I become confused – quite lost. Can’t understand.
Things pass and float through my open mind,
and I still can’t find where I am.

‘What are you going to do the rest of your life?’

What are you going to do with your life?
When, exactly, are you going to start doing it?
Are you ever going to amount up to anything?

– Really, how can one answer these questions,
when the one being asked lives on a separate slate
of values?

What is going to deem my life an important one? A respected and fufilled one? One not wasted?
Is it really going to be the high degree of eduction,
the money, the car, the house, the lawn, and the clothes?
In my opinion, it will be the outlook;
it will be the trying times and being able to get over them with a smile.
It will be having the ability to stay positive when you haven’t money,
when all you’ve got is that family that mightn’t even be blood-one that’s ever changing-

Fufillment is not the number of zeros on my salary,
But the number of people I touch gently with my soul to theirs.
It will be those who become moved by the words I write –
by the novels I put forward, spring to action on the page in fantasy.

The most important thing, is to do what makes you happy.
So all I need is a family, the outdoors, and something to write with,
and I am set for LIFE…
whether or not it conquers with the ideas you had inside of your head.

Roaming Away From Normality

A liquid summer fades into fresh snow,
It hardens into ice I’m afraid to fall on.
Through catapults of holidays and work-
is it here that we our to find ourselves?

In between days that blur together
we look past our reflection in the mirror,
Terrified of what is real and what’s to come
Of who is staring back with cold eyes.

A mundane life calls to us from afar,
begging that we join it on adventures,
Instead we lapse into a routine
and collect all the things we never need.

No, I won’t let myself be pulled underneath
of this crazy mess of crinkled money.
Instead I’ll rush against this strong wind,
With your hand in mine we’ll start anew.
We will save our souls.

Welcome to Yourself

I’m blazing along on this strange, open road of prosperous interactions and awkward experiments. Thrown into a mix of laughter and blood, there is quite honestly no time to stop and question the actions that one conjures up to commit. If you ever pause for too long of a time, you will have noticed that nearly everything has slipped between your fingers including the swiftly moving wind of happiness painted in derailed lines. Don’t take this life for granted in thought that maybe your next rebirth you will have a stronger society, a more capable self, because for all you know you may not be priveleged a next life at all – or all 9 of yours have been used throughout these dazed years. Remember to learn not from lessons but from glimpses into mistakes, and do not forget to make further mistakes in separate perspectives as to continuously educate oneself until the greatest knowledge of purity can be reached.

We are all beautiful and have the potential of beings the Gods of this universe…we just have to pull ourselves together, fear not of what is to come, love eternally and forgive everlastingly to those who have the gentlest, kindest of touches to our hearts; humanity is not lost, yet.

Suppose This

Who are you supposed to call?
When you look outside your window,
flakes of snow float by in mid-May –
you doubt the flowers you planted will see through.

Who are you supposed to ask?
When the nonsensical orders itself,
neat lines of chaos badger your thoughts –
soft rain patters on sunlit pavement.

What are you supposed to do?
If the stars stop to show,
the leaves of trees turn blue with time –
and all you want is to watch Autumn return.

When are you supposed to succeed?
After all your tries,
running by with feet caked in mud –
your cerebellum tingles with failure.

Who are you supposed to love?
When all that matters is survival,
your breath gets caught between lies –
and the room you sleep in is empty.

Who are you supposed to be?
As the world changes itself around us,
shifting its face into contortions –
and then you get left behind.