>                   Crashing,                                  wavering.
            ­  Singing         some                     emptied          song,
       Tossing away          the                worthless              thing.
Amidst the endless                     storms of this sea.
Where no cries could be        heard. Not unlike those,
chambers of madness. Where no song can reach; no wave can crash; no will to seize; no life can live; no dream to foam. And all reduce to

an empty song.

Time degrades, that is a matter of fact.
That which does not degrade only exists within the mind,
But minds degrade too, and what can an animal do when its cage caves in on itself?

Time removes, that is a matter of reason.
That which remain eternally only exists in realms beyond our imagination,
But imagination can only get you so far, and what can your creativity do when you come upon the incomprehensible?

Time embellishes, that is a matter of deduction.
That which remains in obscurity only need more time,
But time forgets, and what remains of the colossal wreck when a million years past?

They say that windows are beautiful.
Elegant, truly, and crafted with mastery.
Especially the stained-glass windows,
They shatter so easily.

Quickly fastly now's the time to act.
Slow and steady 's never got you past.
Jump out screaming and show your self.
Cowering in fear will never get your soul.
Three's never enough to do naught,
Four's still never quite the charm.
One more, just one more now,
I'll get it and right 'way be done.

Hey you, remember me?
I wonder what's on your mind right now
Is it
    The cries of wrath
    The laughs of scorn
    The quiet of grief
    The seeking of worth

Or is it
    The cries of joy
    The laughs of friendship
    The quiet of satisfaction
    The seeking of good rest

Oh, sorry, the cat just jumped on the table.
I'll let her speak a while.
Ffggg yvjvuugbybyhhjh unhf
That's enough for now.
See you tomorrow!

We live in a society
That knows no individuality.
Their incessantly blaring sirens and bells
Know so much but have none to tell.

Perhaps to begin truly living,
One must find a sanctuary to live in.
And listen, briefly without speaking,
To what the birds are saying.