Even when we're broken
I know now
What real pain is
It is the awkward silence
When I choose myself over you
And you hate me for it.
A box full of nonsense words
The first word
When he is in a black mood
There is thunder and lightning
Sometimes he cries
When he is in a bright mood
There is sunshine and butterflies
It's dazzling and warm
He is beautiful and moody
My friend, the sky
Born again in a bent and broken world and still
I keep feeling the same...
Pain after pain, slowly pulsing, tightly curled...
Old days I'm re-living...pressure and confusion...
Always begging to be forgiven...all the time fear and every minute stress...
Jumbles, stumbles...a catastrophical mess
Surface broken and a million faults on my core
I'm sorry...I cannot live anymore
Is the voice a part of the body?...how then,if so,do souls communicate??
What does a soul look like and how does it sound? Could our voices be the signature of who we are within...a print??
Or is a gathering of souls going to be like a gathering of deaf mutes without sign language?....or maybe souls use telepathy as a means to communicate??
It may well be so....
I see a man in you, the man who fought for freedom
I know a man's in you, the man who longed for peace
I met a man in you, I knew he had a dream...
I want that man in you, to come forth and make a change
Sixteen miles of walking along a road..
Rampaged by rampant thunder..
Think not lowly of the traveler then..
If he might fall or blunder..
For broken bones shant stop this man..
Nor will the anticipation..
Because he feels that torture or torment..
Is just part of education..