Time And The Moon
The moon is white The moon is clear Whenever I feel sad I turn to the moon And hope it gives me guidance.
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The moon is white The moon is clear Whenever I feel sad I turn to the moon And hope it gives me guidance.
I look outside the window, And stare into the sky. I hope this is the landscape, Around me when I die. The stars light up the whole night, Breaking through the clouds.
I hear the pitter patter of the rain against the sill. Since a child I have been seated here, amongst the drops. The steady soft beat put me in a peaceful state of mind.
So have you ever had one of 'those days'. You know, the ones when you cannot see the bright side of any situation, when all you want to do is cry, but you don't because, well, what's that going to do.
Sometimes I find myself taking the easy path through life. The one that is signposted: route of least resistance.
It was when wandering, a calm December night When eyes to the ground, I found an interesting stone.
On the body (signs of the flesh) On the body, a thousand square inches, Enough to cover a land, On which many soulsmay live. But under this land Lives Just one Soul.
Howling gives my spine a chill, The wind picks up, On my window-sill, The fly-away hairs, Obscure my sight, Lend me your hand, And bring the light.
Sometimes I cry sometimes I don't Because I will and because I won't I cry for pain but not for death Because I know there's much more Yet Sometimes I cry sometimes I don't Because I will and...
Life is too confusing. But it's just the way it is. They confused you,thrilled you,scared you, terrifies you or sometimes denied you. They do this, so that we can know hardships.
The man I once was. I am not the man I thought I was. Just a shell an empty farce. Turned insecurities into funny masks. Never lived up to any task. It took to loose what I could bare to not.
I sit by the fire on this road. Charred remains of humanity. Evidence of things gone wrong. I Think. There is nothing left. Only the dying -thoughts Of many innocents. The crying of many babes.
Once there was a box, buried deep under a desolate shore.
I had a happy day Fun and hype Did things I could regret And said things I wish had not They brought me pains and cheers They gave me life and soul For all the things I do Will always bring me so...
I ask of you only to conceal my rage, a task so simple, for the world is not a stage. I ask that my pride be served to a lesser degree, for the sight from my eyes, is for my eyes only to see.
In symmetry we close our eyes I try to visualise your face Nothing seems to appear Questions dance around my head A symphony of confusion I settle for the night wind Soothing and relaxed It...
I guess you could say the entirety of my blog is based on advice, inspiration, motivation.
How much can you give up for someone. Or how far and how long are you willing to go for that someone. Is it stupid and childish of me to feel like this. Or to do what I'm doing. Yes, it is.
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are.
You wake to the sound of your own breathing. It's too early to rise from your bed--so you stare at your ceiling. You're tired still and your heart beats too slow or too fast.
Standing on the cold wooden floor, the light from the morning sun works a path through the window and the partly open blinds.
Would you class yourself as ordinary. If not why not. Is there something that defines you as a person. If there is then you have just defined yourself as a person, am I wrong.
As i stared into those big, black eyes, i saw a glimmer of hope tinged with sadness. What did he hope for in life, i wondered.
I'm tired of not knowing who I am. I know that sounds strange and weird and twisted but, believe me, it's unintended.