without waves the sea becomes a pond
the moon retired
the earths life blood drained
if I were to define beauty it would be nature
harsh random and cruel!
just like the eye within a cyclone
this life is presented as calm
until the edge, embraces all hell
what comes around goes around
each generation stands the risk of chaos
war and mayhem, the culling season
writes histories pages, edged in blood
the horrors of which, drives mankind to find God
irony of which, does not escape me
