A cell is a perfect piece,
To the puzzles we see.
All that is made around us,
Each to their own degrees.

Its the little things in this life,
Which make us complete.
A whole part of our world,
Justified by a piece.

What were made of is precious,
And taken for granted endlessly.
Remember what were made of.
You and I are the same,
Cant you see?

Remember when we were kids?
We'd climb as high as we could in trees,
And never worry about the fall out.
We reached farther for things we wanted,
Farther than we do now,
The world was our playground,
Our jungle,
And i see we've lost our advantage now.
We were once able to believe in the extreme.
If you wanted to be a doctor,
All you'd have to do was believe.
But once we got older,
Life took us by surprise,
Showing us that if you wanted to be a doctor,
You had to bleed out your fees.
The extreme lived among us,
But not like old fantasies,
A gaping grim grotto,
All us kids had believed.

With all creation,
Comes responsibility, necessity.
A purpose which drives those to do good, do better.
A turning point for those who have lost,
All meaning in themselves and their abilities to push beyond.
The creation of some thing, or someone.

Each of us, with our own plans in mind,
Has tried at some point,
To create something in recognition of our minds.
This explains the automobile or a plane,
Creations which bring back a thought of,
Well who made it? Or
Who thought of this idea?
The funny thing is that,
Even an idea can be considered creation,
Its not just a life form or a simple statement.
Creation comes with responibility in all its nature,
A reason to strive to do better.

Blurred lines and
Twisted visions,
Crippled ripples in the waves of our division.
What you see is what you get,
Forget the feelings.
Fizzy matters of the heart,
No contradictions.
Blank spaces,
Cheap alterations.
Whats mine is yours,
Whats yours is mine,
Dont feel frustration.
Blurred lines and
Twisted visions,
Contemplated aspirations of what fame is.
Running rampant,
Trancing passion,
Life bewilders those who cant handle whats tragic.

In a small dark town,
There lives a fear.
Fear of the unknown,
And fear of changes.

A shrewd boundary oversought this fear,
And many never looked to overcome it.
You see, this town was full of many people,
All different, all seeking the same things.
But only some could see the boundarys of braveness.

To surpass the fear,
People had to accept the changes,
Take hold of what was unknown,
Cross the borderline and be brave ones.

Others reside at the borders bliss,
Still trying to rid thdmselves of the dark fears abyss.
Many will never not know fear,
And many more will never know this border between braveness.

In a small dark town,
You may fear the changes.
You may fear the unknown,
But fear not,
For theres a borderline of braveness.

Sweeping vines and rosemary binds,
Flourescent forests of color unwind.
A fragrance that lifts all descending hope,
One that brings spirit to those been provoked.
Swirling currents of flavor,
forgiving all passers by.
A valley so lovely,
Please dont even blink an eye.
You wont want to miss out on such a treasure,
Such a breatheless sight.
The willow leaves will dance with splendor,
Surely, this land is divine.

Solitude of the mind comes so naturally.
A moment of quiet begins peace and please.
A ground which confirms sanity.
Reassuring our thoughts they are still at ease.
A meditation that dances delicately,
Floating in ways more than comforting.
A release from daily cluster and tragedy,
For foil that stains peace of mind and wont let me sleep.

But a moment of solitude and just watch me sink,
Into cushions of daydreams,
A pleasure so sweet,
Sliding further into that feeling of peace.
Gliding endlessly,
So spiritual, so deep.
Until the only thought left flustering,
Is complete and utter sleep.