Life has those tearful Moments,
When U need a Shoulder to cry on.
U find there's no one around U
and your Heart ends sighing on.
Life has those empty Moments,
that keeps eating on U.
U see the World Colourless,
and U end up feeling Blue.
Life has those silent Moments,
When U need someone to talk,
But there's hardly anyone around,
So U end up taking a walk.
Life has those scary moments,
When U feel, U are not good enough.
U go around tipping your Hat,
but still that's not enough.
Life has its beautiful Moments,
When at Night, U stare up at the sky.
U Wait for the Moon to show up
So U can wave it good-bye.

the world is colourless
colourless, because it's abandoned
colourless, because it's empty
colourless, because it's dead
colourless, because salvation requires there to be something left to salvage.

selfishness, greed, the lies we told,
there will always be consequence
there is no one left to pin the blame on
because now, we are all guilty.

but there is hope.

after we are gone,
it will finally rain.

after we are gone,
the sky will slowly clear.

after we are gone,
a green stem will grow from the earth.

after we are gone,
nature will survive.

after we are gone,
the world will bring itself back to the prosperity
that it had before we came.

after we are gone,
the world will reconcile
it will return to what it was
without us there to destroy it again.

because, before we were gone,
we forgot that it was not the nature that depended on us
but we the ones that depended on nature.

perhaps it was time for us
to take our leave.

perhaps it was for the best
that humanity was its own fatal flaw,
its own destruction.

I get no replies of smiles,
I walkthrough a bunch of colourless miles....

Is it not a paradox that her deception should leave her beauty so unmarked? Her winsome countenance - generously admired - leaves her suitors abject; mere puppets on a string.

Verily, the essence of her is as a tarnished trinket. For to mine own soul she appears as jaded as a ***** house quean. Her eyes which once shone with the light of truth unblemished, a colourless and infinite mire overgrown with the entangled falsehoods she has seeded.

“Engulfed in bubblewrap
Oh, he's a fragile gift
A colorless soul, some would say

For anyone could colour it
Most would paint over the lines
Some would never even reach the delicate corners

I know of one fine artist that could paint him
Her fine fingers formed with delicacy
For only she could grace him with panache

Regrettably, their paths would never cross
As she is engulfed in bubblewrap too,
And lives in a separate box” — Demi.M Potts