One day consists of 86,400 seconds,
each one containing countless
options, possibilities, and decisions,
of which only one can emerge.
One second, one minute, one hour:
that is all it takes to change someone's life.
Although highly improbable, tangible ideas can be grasped.
Such words like: friend, relationship, and love can be achieved.
Each second has the ability to create one life and erase another.
Within each second, there's a beauty
to each decision, opportunity, or possibility.
This is one second, what will you do?
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Her glistening brown locks fall to her side
like a waterfall slowly spraying water at its edge.
Her soft yet tender lips create a beautiful curvature
similar to that of an hourglass.
Her beautiful eyes compliment her visage,
with stunning hues of deep and royal blue.
Her cheekbones are raised and set,
like the great Europeans of the past.
Her skin is so clean and clear,
it's like looking through a crystal shard.
With all of these combinations,
she is every bit of perfection as she sounds.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
A wise poet once said
"the eyes are the window to the soul",
and this is completely true.
Within seconds at peering into the eyes,
it's possible to see a glimpse into a person's soul.
It is with these glimpses that we can simply see
the memories that have developed over their life.
They can show the sadness or happiness one has possessed.
Memories are the supreme essence of the soul.
Without them, we are nothing but a husk.
But every memory is a unique transforming experience.
Each memory molds our soul,
and as a result, we are better for it.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
A quiet, solemn voice passed over the fallen leaves,
creating an unusual high pitched whistle.
The sound could be heard from all over the land,
and it entranced many of the listeners.
At first, all that could be heard was a single pitch,
no variant could be made out.
Then a slow, intense melody could be made out.
It painted a picture of a farm somewhere in France.
The melodic etude's tempo soon raced with urgency.
The yelps of young children and women could be heard,
covered up with the melancholic sounds of gunfire
being gunned through the dreadful, gray air.
The deep drumming of the bass and low brass
signified sounds of heavy artillery colliding with the earthen ground.
The rapid succession of chords and key changes
slowed the scene down to almost a standstill.
And almost as fast as it had begun,
it ended with a somber, low pitched note.
The whistling from the leaves discontinued,
and the memories of World War II was lost.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
When the music died,
I had no reason to have cried
Just silence, that was all.
Except me, who began to bawl.
The hallways went quiet,
Everything became silent,
Just silence, that was all.
Except me, who began to bawl.
The wind made no sound,
No trace could be found.
Just silence, that was all.
Except me, who began to bawl.
There was no chirping from the crows.
Nor was there sound from the raking hoes.
Just silence, that was all.
Except me, who began to bawl.
There I sat, not a word
Not a thing said was heard.
Just silence, that was all.
Except me, who began to bawl.
The music began to play,
Everyone conversed and started to say,
"There was no silence at all,
Just that guy who began to bawl."
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
Her eyes,
As beautiful and blue as the ocean
Her hair,
As brown as the Earth's rocky crust
Her lips,
As red as the lava of a volcano
Her smile,
As bright as the light that surrounds us
Her body,
As light and as elegant as an angel
And her mind,
As intelligent as all the scientists on Earth
This is Mother Earth's Daughter.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 1:52 AM UTC
The wind moves at a slow pace
Creating a whispering voice
Talking to shadows as they creep
Through the eerie and morose night.
Deep in a graveyard, the wind comes
It whispers untold stories to the dead.
And as the wind converses, death replies
With its own gruesome story.
It whispers the stories of the thousands dead:
Fighting wars, giving birth, protecting citizens.
As death continues to tell the stories,
Wind begins to whimper, until it becomes a storm.
The storm rises into the dreary night,
Until it bursts into tears,
Giving the landscape a glistening effect
And gives life to the seemingly dead planet.
Death becomes quiet, no longer whispering
For life has taken over the Earth
And the wind comes in at a slow pace
Creating a whispering voice.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC