I was told to write this piece

For one who has lived a pure life

But what is the point of celebrating the dead

If the living have been forgotten

The children who are born to starvation

Born into the war

The women who are beaten

By their own husbands who drink



How about the silent samaritan

Who’s been selfless all his life

Does he not get commemoration

How can we ignore their cries

Their cries to be heard

To be acknowledged

To be loved



We shall all perish

Under our false gratitude of life

We will continue to proclaim the dead

And leave the living further into the dirt

Wondering why the world has come to this

When we are just too prideful to open our eyes



When we set aside our ego

only then will we will come to see the beauty

The beauty of life

Only then will we appreciate it

And instead of praising those who have passed

We will mourn not for their death

But cry tears of joy

For the wonderful life they’ve lived

And maybe

Just maybe

We may cry that the Earth has lost someone

Worth living for

Green little elf-ling,
Why do you hide from me so?
Do not be afraid.

I am but a traveller,
From very far away lands.

Hear me green elf-ling.
Why do you bear your sharp knife?
Please do not fear me.

I have come to seek refuge.
In a world where it’s seldom.

Show yourself elf-ling.
Is it true that it’s safe here?
I’ve heard many tales.

Stories of the high elf-lings,
The most prosperous people.

Tell me green elf-ling,
Has my journey been fruitless?
All this way for nought.

Have you not seen the others?
Are you the last of the elves?

Burglar of the night,
Why steal my light?
What can you gain,
From waking my bane?

How do you appear,
Instilling fear,
In my weak heart,
Like throwing a dart.

Kidnapping my glow,
In one quick flow,
Have you no soul,
you bottomless bowl.

But I will move on,
As tides are drawn,
I would say bye,
But I got to fly.

Light burglar.