I found out my best friend died today, I sat down and this poem dripped out of me. That's the best way to explain it. It easily but slowly dripped out of me, until I was drained somewhat of the feeling, what was left was a puddle of my thoughts and emotions. Enjoy.
Life is fickle.
Life is indeterminably fickle.
A small flame in a ferocious wind, with little to guard it.
The wind may flare, leaving the flame extinguished.
It's life ends, living on only as a brief memory of light in the darkness.,
Then it is gone.
The sands of time turnover, the past is buried and becomes the future.
So life is merciless and cruel to the dear hope of preservation.
The memories of very few men live more then a generation.
Countless live and die, their names forgotten.
Their heads and their stomachs, everything they lived and died for.
Their hopes and dreams, unique creations of their heart and mind.
They lay covered in dirt.
A tragedy,
for man has lost another beautiful heart.
