Everyone in the world has a dream,
everyone a plight to achieve something somewhere deep inside,
to perhaps open the heart to be true is harder than one thinks..
the past a shield from the present, though the present shall yield the past
to see beyond what is in front of oneself is always hard
to believe in what you see is that only some can succeed..
quality not quantity,
is that the way it goes..
this world it seems to crumble beneath oneself like an old dying rose..
but hang it up and let it dry and for years it could stand.. but is that the key to happiness?
to drain out the color.. leave no emotion but the trace of ones former lubrant self?
people ask questions.. they ask to find.. yet, standing here tho i seek i shall never find
getting lost is easy.. finding the way..well, to know life..
surely one would need a map, but there is none which are cast aside..
no guide to life,
turn 21.. be handed a key to the door..
why is it that as life goes on that door is painted black?
perhaps it is a miscalculation of ones self..or perhaps a misconception of some idealism
i dont know.. i dont really care to know..
because i know in the end.. the sea shall continue to rock back and forth..
the clouds will fill and empty over and over..
and where i once stood, what i once felt... shall be..
nothing more than a rock which is ground to sand..
a memory turned to dust.
