I promised myself to never write when I was depressed.
And then I realized I would never write again.
So yes, sadness has its flavour, a taste acquired,
Like all the finer things in life,
A bit of bitter often brides us better,
The sweet of things misleads and makes us dull,
So yes,we have arrived to suffer, to ask and persevere,
Our fate is not to believe but to become,
We are God in the making, we are the design.
So little time.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
I promised myself to never write when I was depressed.
And then I realized I would never write again.
So yes, sadness has its flavour, a taste acquired,
Like all the finer things in life,
A bit of bitter often brides us better,
The sweet of things misleads and makes us dull,
So yes,we have arrived to suffer, to ask and persevere,
Our fate is not to believe but to become,
We are God in the making, we are the design.
So little time.
Its rainy and summer cold and I needed to write. Do others feel that way? Like if you don't write something you are going to explode? Or collapse? Or disappear?
