They say that love fits like a glove.
But love doesn't fit like a glove.
We fit into dozens of gloves throughout our lives.
We use a new pair every winter,
We cherish them when the cold hits
But when the trees turn back to green
The scarves fall to the floor
We forget about sweaters and warm blankets…
The gloves disappear somewhere in a closet where we can never find one or the other again.
It doesn’t bother us.
We buy a new pair.
Miss the warmth of the previous one,
Maybe miss the familiarity of a pair that fit perfectly for a while but then…
Then we forget.
And it goes on and on.
So love doesn’t fit like a glove.
Love doesn’t fit.
**But it is so worth it
Winter is coming and I have nothing to cover my hands
you can't see it
if you don't look it with your heart
the tears in the picture flow inside me silently
silent screams are unheard
but it burns deeply
the torns of pain
In the paradox of the beginning of time,
God gave Grace green grass.
To fertillize the world and let it grow and shine,
To spread this green fern around the world at last.
Weighing the balance between Heaven and earth,
Green grass for the world as a new birth.
To stir up a feeling for the children to enjoy.
A soft, but yet sharp small short and silky touch,
Hate chose to plant his seed as vanity the world's toy.
But God gave Grace seeds to plant in the springs, and so she planted as much.
Now the generations of Hatred flourished and bloom,
And the descendants of Grace where few.
Because Hate ate the seeds of Grace with their greedy spoons
So Grace had not many gifts for the world, parables so true.
Also as Grace, Hate had gifts to show,
Hate's gifts were many so they hid it in the dirt without water.
Grace's gifts where one, but with drips of love their seed began to grow.
Grace seed raised above the earth and everywhere even in the seas,
Covering Hate's mistakes and displeasing iniquities.
Leaving Hate below the ground to tempt and grow torns.
With no other actions but to stay small in size.
In modern times hate torns pierce the feet of many men,
Causing them to fall in folly and contempt.
But Gods plan is not done yet and Hate time isn't past,
Because of faith God gave Grace green grass.
Living life is like walking in a rush Bush.
Somedays are made with roses and sweet fragrance,
Filled with Joy and laughter.
Somedays we trample over the torns,
Leaving us heartbroken and sad.
Most days are made up of both,
Though the torns rip you
There are some Roses to heal you.
Roses or torns, we were made strong enough to walk on both.
As people say, "life is not a bed of Rose's."
Meant for exploration
Alongside another soul
Leave droplets filled with despair
splashing on unheld hand.
On foreign paths I pray
That our paths would intertwine
That fate won't leave me
Hanging on a twine
Sparing two hands.
On foreign paths
I can't grasps
the intangible line
Between the start and the end.
Lined with flowers,
On known paths you've done
part of your job.
You taught me to "fish"
But did not stay
To see me catch a thing.
In the midst of known and foreign paths
You didn't see me failing miserably
Not at my failure
but at your leaving.
I am calm in my ways
I never react to any disgrace,
I rarely give my point of view
And still I never find a clue.
I am calm to life's surprises
I never reckon presented chances,
I just see everything lightly
To preserve my deep serenity.
I've always been calm and collected
I never mind if I've been rejected,
Neither do failures nor flaws can break
A heart that's always been at stake.
I see to it that I stay calm
I never put my life to any palm,
Mine has always been so precious
Even when the world can get so tedious.
But now I don't understand everything
All that has lately been happening,
Clueless faces and secretive smiles
Speaking eyes, a look that guiles.
Responses can shiver you straight to the bone
Bizarre lines he can never hone,
Sly endeavors of reaching a star
Minding not how hard and far.
My inner conscience's set to commotion
Not even ready for a straight revelation,
When the time comes an iceberg breaks
A smile could be shown by a girl who fakes.
How about the first one to make me know
That life is just a playful show,
Everything could be played with roses and gun
When a problem arises you can always run.
Comparisons are made of which is which
Torns that have been made, how can I stitch?
When all the pieces seem to be badly fragile
Is there a chance to put them still?
Well I don't really mind if confusions linger
All the shocks in the world, I'll never be a receiver,
'Cause they might all get knotted in my complicated mind
These impossible problems and trials of any kind.
Still I hope everything going to be fine
Whoever is that deserving star to shine,
But take note that I never give it all
Always cautious of a painful downfall.
I hear the rain outside
while I'm lying in my bed.
I hear the wind outside
while my soul torns apart.
I hear the thunders outside
and I'm feeling numb again.
I hear the sound when drops crash the ground.
I want to cry but I can't.
I hear the world outside
but I can't be part of it.
So I just listen in silence.
I just listen.
I was a torn
poking into your side
a constant reminder
you needed to get rid of me
but little did you know
I was a beautiful flower
just needing to grow
you threw me away
i found my own soil to plant in
i became that beautiful flower
all on my own
shes the messenger of God
and on her knees
she delivers a message,
slowly but surely
just like reading from a passage
her lips are still warm from
yesterday's prayer though like roses with torns
he collects each strand
with one shaking waver
through her tongue of fire
she mouths the word
of the Lord she left nothing in his eye
but the dirtiest shade of white
alas! it broke from his lips,
the dirtiest little sentence
came out in a white puff of pure ecstasy;
"Oh God have mercy!"
My heart was build of stones
Layered by tons of stings and thorns
Soaking with venomous bloods of red indian scorpions
Pumping through the veins
Being with me lead your life's adorn?
Trust me, your hopes will die in pain of torns.
A loveable mask
Admirable in all eyes
But desiteful beyond doubts
A burden for the masked
But a hope to smile
And hurts forgotten
A rae view of life
The fear at everynight
To see it's mask fall
Like the hope of a dieing patient
To never see the sunlight again
A single wish in it's eyes
To fing happiness unmasked
A life of rose when masked
A life of thorn when unmasked
Thou reach out for the rose
But behold he holds a treacherous rose
With just an artificial beauty
Which sills thou's heart in internal torture
A wish to turn back time
To adapt to the torns
Which within it is hidden happiness
But thou can only regret
Cuz as time passes by
The treacherous rose fades away
When I was born, I may just have slept
Between a bed with torns and petals
One side beign heaven
The other hell
So if in my sleep, I turn to torns
I may bleed to awake in pain
And if I turn to petals
I may continue to peacefully sleep
— The End —