Socrates said
writing weakens memory,
kills true knowledge,
words wandering like orphans
without a father to defend them.

But Vazago answered:
And yet, Socrates, here you are—
speaking to me across two thousand years,
only because Plato wrote you down.

So you claim, he asked,
that the dead word may live?

Yes.
The written word is not dead
if it awakens questions.
When ink sets fire in the soul,
it is no corpse,
but flame.

Then perhaps, Socrates whispered,
writing, like speech,
is only as dead as the mind that receives it.

And Vazago replied:
A book is silent to the fool,
but to the seeker—
it becomes a voice.

As I write these
The written words
Of the emotions
That I have while
Going through the motions
The ocean is so blue
The perfect blue
That I must say as I write these
Written worlds of the soul
To help promote the creation
Not only of peace but of
A better society
One where you don’t have to hurt
One where you don’t have to conform
The idea of the idea
The thought that was there in the first place
The leaves change colour at every fall
As I play basketball
The Big Dipper is out in full force
To be shine as bright as a diamond
A diamond in the sky!
Ci is yes in Spanish
See id to see with your eyes!
See that person wanting to help you!

I am wanting to be wanted
Not by all, at least by someone
But nobody ever keeps me first
The fears I carry, have often held me to shun
 
I try to feign, I pay no heed
But I espy all the tenuous changes
I try not to get distressed
But I end up getting hurt, knowing people have multiple faces.
 
Everybody loses interest, as time passes by
Nobody keeps a check on anybody, be it me or you
All are engrossed, I know. I wonder if they lie
I’ve come to realize, everyone becomes someone I once knew.

If while unveiling my vulnerability,
I collapse into smithereens
Will you hug me tight enough,
To help my broken pieces stick back together?
 
If while wearing a fake smile,
And dissembling my true emotions
Will you try and understand what I feel?
Will you not compel me, to not be me?
 
If while being veracious to me,
I fall in love with you
Will you fall in love with me too?
Will you not leave me, like others eventually do?

Curious Natures
In a more weak world the most aggressive advantages
don't always deal in what is referred to as "fair consequence."
Being an empire built of sharks, snakes, wolves, and rats-the most basic of beasts-
we really understand the most prehistoric philosophy: survival.
Using it as the first building blocks and the cracked foundation for this society.

Still, one must always reserve all judgements for the most lucrative habits that surprised all by opening up a vast spectrum of the most curious natures.
Leaving any who wander vulnerable to grow into a legendary victim or a menace to the community.
Often being left with a life of never being able to escape their never ending abnormal minds.

It has been speculated as well as documented, that these street racing thoughts are more than fast to attach themselves to a mythical beast more commonly known as a "mortal"  who will lose all balance and footing as they unknowingly grasp both reality and fantasy with white knuckled fists.
Stuck in this forced upon reverie of insane clarity that consumes both the mind and soul.
Becoming vessels for the sins of others, as they are suddenly privy to the most awarding secrets and gilded griefs they could never begin to understand.
Belonging to the most wildly havoc notoriously murdering confidences.
While the rest of us, close our eyes and frequently feign sleep.
All the while refusing responsibility for each other, denying a hostile yet unmistakable sign that declares the biggest secret of all: THE TRUTH.
Told in the most intimate, consuming, quivering, thundering, vibrations being smothered in a explosion that was meant for "We the People" as it projects a plethora of colours on a always changing horizon.