The breaking of things,
disappearing meanings,
for growth, and progress,
we strive nonetheless.

What was once old,
remade to the new.
What was once treasured,
now merely a tool.

A hintings of a time that once came to be,
A sign of a future that was once yet to be.

Time passes fast.
Things are not the same.

What was state of the art,
now merely maintained.

All things are like this,
thought to give us amidst,
a splattering of pain,
a dash of suffering,
a combination of stress and disharmony.

A certain happiness,
a joy that won't be missed.
A goal that is worthy,
of all the pains that we once dissed.

We slowly grow,
chasing after things.
Yet then we realize,
said things are now slow.

Everything that's made, will be like so.
Nothing is free, nor can be maintained when old,
for our happiness and joy, that which we sow.

All things break down, even I myself too.
What was once good, may become taboo.

To maintain we strive. to be happy we work.
Not knowing when this will be our last word.
Where we see that all things that have come to be,
just like our happiness, will cease to be.

So abandon this maintenance,
of this facade and countenance,
and live a life of honesty,
of complete abundance.

We’re motes of dust and stars that sparkle,
We’re cherry trees and busy bees,
We’re rays of light when it gets darker,
We blossom, finely, in the freeze.

We shimmer, warmly, in the void,
Defying odds and making friends.
We build when others are destroying,
We guide you past unlit dead-ends.

We’re rivers winding through the deserts,
We’re oceans, gentlest at the shore.
We are the snow, we are the claret…
When earth is parched, we let it pour.

We are the night, we are the morning,
We are the ticking of the clock.
We are the comfort in the times of mourning,
We are the feathers mild when you sleepwalk.

We are the sky, we are the thunder,
We are the sun, we are the rain.
We put the rapture in the wonder,
We put the slow in the fast lane.

We are the truth, we are the spirit,
We are the numbers and the runes.
…So take your life and boldly live it
While humming all those merry tunes.

Life is a question that,
sometimes,
Only eternity can answer.

What is it like to have a purpose in life?

Well i am fool and i wake up everyday with a purpose to feed my hunger and soul.

From the time of ash and flame
I have found a life again
Upon the coals and to the top
None shall ever make me drop
Holding fast and standing free
I have found that which is me
A climber
Yes
I'll send it
You'll see

The shattered world vanishes beneath thee,
the emptiness, now pervading within me.
I see what was once there before,
now ceasing to be there at all.

What I once called,
my life and my family,
the cornerstones of my very identity,
turning into dust, a part of my memory.

Even this, ceases to be,
what was "forever", now just a "could be"
time erodes all that I deem,
important to no one, except me.

Yet this breaking,
deconstruction of worlds,
changes my perception,
for good or for ill,
into something beyond,
becoming adjourned,
into a part of something, new it may be.

My ideas begin to break,
my thoughts begin to shatter.
What was important, now doesn't even matter.
I recall a time, things were important to me,
now no different than the dust beneath me.

I then pay attention, to what is void and apparent.
The unchanging past, and the future in development.
I see what was broken, will be made anew,
and that there is nothing that won't be so.

Breaking my mind, breaking my soul,
breaking the heart that tears me so.
Overwhelming the part constituting this "me",
what then dies, is now reborn to see.

Of a time once past,
of a future yet to be.
Of a wholly new perspective,
rich as can be.

Our lives are such,
a deconstruction of the past,
to make a better future,
for every one of us.

The echoes of the mind,
reverberate like bells,
across the empty, endless halls.

The corridors of memory,
containing pain and ecstasy,
pervade the emptiness,
within the noiseless forest.

An unending passage,
an unceasing path.
The uneasy silence that accompanies us.

Thus we thrive in noise,
dance and song,
never once remembering,
where it went wrong.

Occupying our minds,
with past and future things,
wasting the present and all that is,
what's left is nothing, simply this.

We cry in pain,
we cry in sorrow.
We feel the anguish that comes with tomorrow.

We feel the sadness and pent up regret,
and all the things that we left repressed.

Alone with nothing but thoughts in mind,
we forget the peace that's within our mind.
Between what's familiar and what is unknown,
we neglect the latter for a pain well known.

So what is the meaning, what is the point,
of choosing a noise, for which none would rejoice?
I empty my mind, I abandon my wish,
I simply relax, in what simply is.

For within noise is silence, within darkness a day,
hidden behind a curtain which may,
conceal a truth, or reveal a light.
It is your choice, will you stand and fight?

Thoughts of the future,
Visions of the past.
The present moment,
simply does not last.

Time is spent,
unceasingly,
on speculation and niceties.

The self-deception plaguing oneself,
The unceasing banter regarding wealth.
What is left, to truly spend,
is an echo, a fraction, of what we truly have.

Paying attention to useless things,
occupying the mind with countless daydreams.

Imaginings of futures never coming-to-be,
Recollections of a past causing hurt to me,
What is left is but a bare fraction,
the actual time that is spent on the present.

Wasting away the gifts of time,
we squander the present, however benign,
on the past and future, or thoughts of the present.

Rather than seeing what is truly inherent,
the very impermanence that defines the present,
We miss our chance,
the biggest chance there is,
to shape our future, however bleak it is.

As with countless drops one can fill a ***,
day by day we can always walk.
For the path of a thousand miles begins with a step,
with the beginning at hand, the end we will beget,
the very future, we will seek to protect.