Writing soothes the soul, it knows no formula or rhyme.
It only meets the writer and everything in between.
There are things I wish to say and **** the rhymes and numbers.
Writing only knows the artistic mind beheld to its grasp upon birth.
Life knows not one destination.
But many mere moments where life is gazed upon through the past,
and the present visions something much more beautiful than once was.
Happiness is born from past pain.
God I'm so sick of the pain being spoken of.
The pain is gone!
Now she lives as a shining pearl, her oyster shell gone but never forgotten for one must always remember where they derive.
She knows only up.
She knows only success.
Even in the failure she finds success as not one thing in this universe can stop her.
God is on her side as he always has been, but in an instant her mind has shifted to the light.
She has become the spark to her own endevors.
Oh how she craves adventure and gazing upon the breath of the sky.
Venturing out and up to unkown places to her and only known by her creator.
The glorious beauty of this earth, art of its own creation.
She thirsts and hungers for newance and things only fathomable by God himself.
She will succeed even if she fails for that is the secret of living that no one has yet pondered.
