As if the new world out there is down and dusted, leaving nothing but stones; to hit and get hit.
Hit
Hit me harder if I may, show mirror to the ones in need, of lessons once taught are now forgotten, just like houses which ones were built to give the peaceful dream a reality now are places to hide and shred tears trying to realize why did it happen whatever wasn’t supposed to happen.
So crowned with jealousy now, a tall figure of burning hope in front of people naked and shameless themselves and now only to be more creepy and make the crackling voice of yours audible to nations across the world. What is left of desires if every thirst is quenched, every food is tasted, every woman absconded and every decency is shredded to pieces?
Stepping Out
Start writing, if that may be, an escape to a wilderness dream of heightened emotion, ultimate satisfaction, pure fulfillment of lust, be full of rage towards answers yet not given to voices higher than you could hear and average minds who choose to fight. Here, a distance is not visible to those who stepped out and are left behind but to those who instil in them a thirst to be the hurt themselves and pave new ways for generations to immortalize.
It is trouble listening and watching the whole day go by, pleased none other by lessons so easy to forget, lessons so verdant to crack open, and lessons so absurd to linger on with time that just passes by. People still need to answer to the uncertainty that life offers and out of blue apologize to nothing undone.
Nightlight
It’s all gone now, the way sanity was offered as gifts wore on special occasions with grandeur. It’s all a miss which once was missed amongst those with shiny glasses over there candle faces and torchy eyes. It’s to travel back with raging speeds but with calm intentions in broad black roads in a broad nightlight listening to the whispers of the past all equipped to push to the wall still building to the sides of the broad black road in a broad nightlight.
A Misadventure
What you will do? You ought to cry, simply cry and leave tears to your seat observing your situpon. Because you’ll leave, it shall leave traces of a mistake once committed by you, never to be repeated by anyone except you. So that you, be the mistake, still if you may find a reason to be up again, still if you may, fulfill all your needs and make everyone happy, and still if you may, leave no traces of failure, ever again. Still, if you be, what you think and believe you are, and make sense to whatever that is out there, be the Messiah of the time, a rage amongst the people and a name to watch out for, it still be the lesson, lame and unsound, dubbed in history books as a misadventure. But lovely that maybe, to see what you deserve all shaped up, nice and tidy!
Prayers
Be not this a pause to whatever unsaid to minds wishing to know what reasons be if life takes an unwanted turn, shall life be full of hope not lingering until a day next when hopes are futile enough to yield results. Yes, positive it should be, we hope, not all time will the prayers be answered no matter how pure you might be, there will be questions on your prayers if done not properly, if not with pure heart, if not on the right time, if not with the right intent. What shall you do if this be the case?
Nothing
Nothing. Simply, in the times not ready to give you ways, open skies to see, people to meet, desires to meet, things to accomplish, you do nothing and be nothing. There will be fun, there will be hurt. Out of all the calmness will everything call your name. Pristine white dreams and black reality in crisp summer afternoons. The stunted need for anything and beleaguered game of repetitions. Your window will be the book you ought to research on. Everyone will be out and you’ll be inside searching for everything you can, not knowing how to get back where you came from. Why exactly you came back?
Nevertheless, it will all be over. One day, in broad daylight, will you receive ultimate pain and dishonor. Every side won’t be yours to endure and belief will take a deep dive. Never to come back will your innocence be, your gut never to be trusted, to never confine minds in defined circles and to never shred sanity to pieces for people never yours, never supposed to be yours.
Hitting Back
Everything’s not there to fall to the right places. Many will dislodge and be like mountains dead and dreary and some like you, plain but scary. Everything won’t have to hit back at you, wishing to heal every cut you have, not at all culling progress to be like THEM and never ceasing to be what you don’t know you are. Hesitation will ascertain the determination and meditation definition. The culmination of the fascinations and observation of the classifications will put you where you find it easy. Let not break away a single sweat for bonafide certifications.
Seeing Through
Silent, uncultured, and somewhere in the wet woods, one soul once let the breath take over his ever-ending sight, leaning towards the east and his hands touching everything at once it could, he put his invisible heart in search of something. Not shimmering enough with chantings, hardly any jewellery on his neck and fingers, without an emerald stone to guide simmering heartbeats, a connect was to be built with building thrust in everything he was. Nothing was left to leave on earth, beautiful earth, and somewhere else was he supposed to go. He did go; somewhere. Somewhere he knew would be everything he is, to someone who he knew absolutely for something he has to do. He left, never to look back.
