First things first
Learning lessons hurts.
If you can't picture that mixture
Of words than how can you picture
Perfection?
We strive for our ideals through trial and error,
We build to gain and if you're reading this now you've come far wise soul
Even though it is foretold
that error is what hurts us the most
We still continue to make them as if there is a demand for it.
A constant supply of mistake per being, they're selling like hot cakes!
But I deal with mine through accepting my natural reactions and reacting naturally,
from the heart and soul at all occurances.
Then atleast I know regardless
of bad judgement,
I did what I felt right at the time
And if I fail,
I will always accept the fault is
all mine.

As great as they were,
I am too.
You are.  We are.
Realisation of truth.

Fore-fathers and great-mothers,
Lives infinite in pages,
parting for us their conquests,
from all historic ages.
Battles of brute, battles of soul.
Stories of warmth and  stories of cold.

I see them now,
coming from the corners of every earthly crevesse,
they come in their millions,
where human life is bound perfectly
like the threads of a dress.

He who has devoted, he who has fought.
She who has mothered, she who has taught.
He who had not a roof, not an apple, not a home,
he sang music.
She who had comfort, had books, had health,
she rode horses.
They, who have left us their stories in billions,
their unimaginable challenges to their greatest triumphs,
I can feel them now.

As I meditate through  clouds
of metamorphic memories of distant
and current lives alike,
I start to envisage an ocean of quests indicipherable in quantity.
So many things happen,
so many an absurdity.

But that which is the beauty of 'the absurd' ,
is also its curse.
Defining the roads of our lives,
as it plays with our fate.
The notion 'absurd' depicting the occurance of anything can happen to anyone,
at anytime,
regardless of what is on your plate.

Man, woman, adult, child, good, evil, all similar.

Breathing the same air,
Living under the same atmospheric roof,
Even after we are gone,

We are one.

Cautious be the message
Wise be the words
Moderation be the compass
Since words fly like birds.

They can spread like germs
Or can travel from middle earth
They say they spoke to aliens
Some even spoke at birth.

Infectious, malicious, deep-cutting,
belittling, sour, off-putting.

Caring, hopeful, truly sincere,
peaceful, sweet, a kiss to the ear.

There are many forms a word can take,
like the variety of breads a baker bakes.

Love and Hate, yes,
two ends of a pole,
yet as similar as panther is to shark
is to flamingo is to mole.

Now how does that work?
your mind is seething.
Well think about it,
all the above are breathing.

Similarly, words are very alive too,
living in our minds freely in sort of a word zoo.

Certainly diverse their engines of
meaning and intent,
but once in your peripheral they float
around lividly like your favourite scent.

They can aim to degrade
or to even inspire,
Or aim to find truth
from those of a liar,
Or aim to show anger
or some just for fun,
My message is simply remember,
that you are a gun.

Your mouth the barrel,
your brain the clip,
Your vocal system
both spring and grip,

In a world full of ears
every word is a bullet
your tongue is the trigger
Be careful when you pull it.