Set FreeHow is it
That people often chose the harmful way
Over the helpful way?
Is it the nature
Of which makes us human?
Or perhaps one cannot
Maybe refuses to
deal with the world.
Would one be selfish enough
To take their own soul
From this world?
One must serve a purpose
Of which we all must
To make one's life pleasurable
But what if one
Does not wish to serve a purpose?
How does one
Escape the cycle?
What must one do
To smell the scents once common?
Have we been experiencing these sensations
And never to notice it?
My little butterfly.
Process of an ArtistScribble Scrabble
We were once content with our crayons as children
For we never feared rejection and harshness
We become a little more aware of our drawings as we mature
For we have become self-conscience
We have perfected our artists' skills
For we now understand critique
Fantastic ChangesApril Fool's to you
May flowers begin to bloom
June comes before July
August, school has come
September, the leaves come down
Winter in two months
January, a new year
March, soon to be passes
As the cycle starts again
April Fool's to you
Angelic SeasonsI sit under the tree as I hear the birds chirp
The flowers are in bloom
My allergies may attempt to wreck today for me
But I shall resist
The insects swarming in the trees
The pool water resting from a day of swimming
These are the days I enjoy most
Meow Meow MixMeow
They're coming for us
The sound they make before they come to us.
They need more catnip
Give them what they want and let us free
Dark Ages I am the one that lives in this world of religion and faith. They took everything else away from us. Music, gone. Art, gone. Writing, gone. Learning is an extinct past time that only Monks, Priests, and the Pope can experience. My father wants to make me a Priest so that I too can learn to read and write.
"But daddy," I said, "I don't like God."
He stared at me in dead silence as if he were waiting for me to show remorse for what I just said. I've never felt this uncomfortable in front of my own father. Then, he slapped me.
"Son, you were made and sent from God himself."
"But father, would God let you harm me? And would your God let mother die in front of your own eyes"
Slap. Father doesn't like to talk about mother. She was the sunshine of his life and was stoned to death for committing adultery. Tears were starting to form in my eyes.
The Love in LoveAll it takes is three words
Less than three seconds
You never thought eight letters would matter
But they do
Three small words