They tell us that life is precious, yet,
I’ve watched it scattered like ink on forgotten pages.
Faces fade into the silence of wars, laughter is bartered for grief, and love, once radiant,
Becomes the toll demanded by time.
What is beauty,
Continue reading →The keys are in my hand, and my life is too.
The door to grief is blue, light and airy, but, why does it feel so dull and scary?
The door to madness is raging red, for the past and future, it has shed.
Continue reading →The gentle tides never gave me a thrill,
It was always the loud waves that made me feel.
I do not long for soft breezes,
I find calm when the wind howls, when it rips through the branches and scowls.