Only 7% of the world's total population of 109 to 119 billion people are alive right now .


Like the Smashing Pumpkins say , the killer in you
is the killer in me

Everyone
somehow , somewhere , someway

Is responsible for causing the death
of someone else

whimsical patterns,
of vortex aura
colors in the river
of mystic reds,
follow this order,
of a thousand drums
like the iron
in a mountain
calling you
home

time flows by
as an intricate
trance,
we've found the rhythm
an ancient
dance

through the wormhole
of painted cities
and rock
of molten lava

A seeker,
of infinite wonder
set out to
discover
the most incredible
treasure

those of immortal value
in all that they stand,
as time,
the greatest
conqueror
of all

gathered in a
sacred sack
these loving
gems she
stored

however her love
was the motive,
to capture
and share these
treasured gems
to save the others

though when she returned,
from atop the mountain,
no one recognized her
and no one,
would hear her treasure

a life dedicated,
and a life she gave
for pieces of information
that were stored
in the deepest of trenches,
but these she couldn't share,
for no one spoke the language,
the surface dwellers,
could not comprehend the depths

so she withdrew,
into an icy cave,
where she did find some warmth,
in weaving together these treasures
into a shining quilt
made of verse

frozen in time,
the word can be
keep on writing,
and don't be afraid,
to give it
your
life

because they will outlast you.

even the sweetest
of fruits, memories
and happiest moments
fade into nothing

to be grateful
for the fleeting life
and to realize
that all is
loss

it is all washed away,
into an infinite and
galactic ocean
into the very fabric
that wove
creation

fall into nothingness,
as to say goodbye

the question of why attach
to something so fleeting
and why even love,
when it will all
disappear

perhaps rewarded,
in some after-life
or reacquainted
with eternal
memory

And here we are,
in this presence

an illusion
of stability
for but a brief
time

I call her close,
relieving her, at a dose
of simple words,
uttered from a face,
one she cannot
rewrite nor retrace.

I want her to remember
genuine warmth,
when I place a single hand
on her heart, one that beats
in constant fear,
while the other hand
wipes aside her tears.

She'll drift back into
those uncovered shadows,
while I remember
her light, her canvas,
what color she'll desert
in greater favor for hurt.