Fading lines, a whispered plea,
Erasing myself, for all to see.
A gentle wash, a silent tear,
Dissolving slowly, year by year.

No angry shout, no sudden break,
Just fading colors, for goodness sake.
A muted echo, soft and low,
Where vibrant hues used to brightly glow.

The canvas blank, a pristine white,
Lost in shadows, out of sight.
A gradual leaving, soft and deep,
Secrets that I vow to keep.

No grand farewell, no final bow,
Just emptiness, and only now
I understand the silent art,
Of fading softly, setting apart.

The world feels lifeless as I see life everywhere.
I know the people who cross the street breathe
the same air I do.
I know the trees I walk past are very much alive.
But the picture my eyes are allowing me to see
feels unauthentic.
Maybe it's not the world.
Maybe it's the way I'm looking at it.
Maybe I picked at my mind too hard
Dug into my subconscious too deep,
now it all looks fake.
My feelings about it all are illegible.
The change that will come is inevitable.
If not I'll force it.
I'll forge a way to see the beauty of the sky again
I hope misanthropy doesn't take me away.
I'd like to find joy in the people who always smile
when I did, again.
To trust others and the fullness of what makes up the world.
To not always figure out the reason for everything.
The universe is always reforming itself
I'll never be able to catch up with it or the why's
of why people are the way they are
or what actually makes me, who I am.
What gives me the ability to still grip onto life
as I'm opposed to it.
I hope I enjoy it all before I fade away.

A castle built on sand so bright,
With towers reaching for the light,
It gleams beneath the sun's warm rays,
In whispers of the ocean's praise.

The walls are strong, or so they seem,
Yet tides can wash away a dream.
Each grain a story, soft and fine,
A fleeting moment, lost in time.

With turrets high and windows wide,
It dances with the morning tide.
A fragile home in nature's hand,
A marvel made, yet built on sand.

Yet children laugh and castles grow,
In playful hearts, the magic flows.
For life is but a transient strand,
Our joys may bend, like castles, but stand.

So build your dreams on shifting ground,
Embrace the waves, let hope abound.
For every fortress, grand or small,
Is a testament of dreams to all.

When the dream ends
And the dreamer dies
Would the world stop to mourn
Or would it continue its revolution;

With neither an impressive gun salute
Nor just a simple cry of sadness
How long until the warrior's song fade
Into the reality's cruel silence;

When the dreamer dies
He dreams of an eternal edifice.

To fall in love, I sense no perfect hour,  
Yet breaking hearts can feel like a shower.  
When love stops it’s rain- to fade,  
It's a painful cascade,  
Leaving sorrow where once bloomed a flower.