Flow Of Energy
The flow of energy on earth has primarily two constant parts: Life and Death.
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The flow of energy on earth has primarily two constant parts: Life and Death.
Large oak trees, from little acorns grow, A metaphor for life I know. Weak roots, thin buds, a mission to lengthen, Cautiously creeping, trying to strengthen.
Weekends come and weekends go Friday high Saturday low Leave but not forget the sadness Ready to embrace the gladness Back to what I like the most And that's the feeling when I post I know it has...
I love to watch the birds in may When the eggs hatch and everyday Is a challenge thrown the chicks way It's decision time... leave or stay.
You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old age home feeling better every day. Then you get kicked out for being too healthy.
With hearts eager, in the golden haze, Heated passion, and endless days We find eachother, amongst the collage, our lives similarly, like a colourful montage Midas light, shining on us,...
The seasons on Earth are reflections of the seasons of life for each soul. Childhood: Spring When a child is brought into the world, fresh, full of enthusiasm and growing fast.
I wrote a poem for your wedding, and read it out loud - strapped in a corseted dress. my breath faltered and shook from the tightness on my lungs, revelling in your happiness.
[final song in a trilogy: The Cradle, The Palace, The Grave. All three have taken me the last four years to complete and can now be found on Opuss.
In the morning our eyes first met, In the evening we could not forget. In the morning our bond grew strong, In the evening it wouldn't be long.
First we start out as a seed in our Papa's Peepee Competing with Millions of Seeds from the get go to get a chance to be Then when we get favoured (it down to the ivory roll) really a game of...
They met in a park Hours before dark Speaking silly words through silence Wasting hours As their bodies turned to bone.
I hit the ground and wait, while above me you turn golden and slip away. The cold comes and the ground turns hard as iron.
Curious, furious, curious curiosity, always following me. Is it the Western Dream or the Eastern Promise. I make no promises and rarely dream, these days.
Colors. Colors of pink and purple. A living creature. They allow visitors. Of all varieties. They dont complain. Speak now. Or forever hold you peace. But they dont speak. They live in silence.
We first learn to breath, we then know we have arms and legs, eyes to see, ears to hear, listen and guide our way, put on the floor to crawl the path and see our vision, grown enough to walk and...