let him sing his song of sorrow
for chance his joy return tomorrow.
for chance his joy forsake his life,
he’ll tell himself he shall be saved
by love returned, and free from strife,
but naïve he shall remain, enslaved.
let him sing.
silent is the night,
for the creatures of day
in this kingdom of shadow
are with eyes shut tight.
all but the lone,
the restless in the sky,
soaring high and high.
all but the owl,
alone in the night.
in this kingdom of shadow, only owls are nocturnal. ;)
are you doing,
or are you overthinking?
are you progressing,
or are you moving?
are you living,
or are you worrying?
"never confuse movement with progress"
-- Denzel Washington
what is a greater yield to life
than to bleed your heart, etch your soul,
cast aside hatred without strife
and learn to love, so you may be full.
strife is a fun word.
the night sky is clear,
the stars, bright.
there is no fear here,
no anxiety tonight . . .
from the looking glass afar.
what is love
one and another played a game in the forest
where the dark trunks rose tall
and the creatures were a chorus.
the delicate blue air in the midnight’s gloom
left one disoriented:
are the sounds one’s voice too?
one wondered and wandered, but after some time,
another’s voice and one’s thoughts
intertwined in one’s mind.
one cried and one protested, one just didn’t know;
was one even moving?
for one lost feeling in one’s feet below.
the cold wind blurred one’s sight, and nothing seemed clear
so one closed one’s eyes
overtaken by fear.
one was without feeling, legs to chest, and even one’s face.
now all one wanted
was another’s kind, warm embrace.
embrace one another.
gleamed amongst the wild green
appeased buds, shined and sheen
this field of blades not red, but green
for rain erased the war it had seen.
exalt your stature
as the prided flower
in this field
of the wilted.
this is for you.
i do not care for grand glory, nor fame,
for inspiring just one, means all the same.
— The End —