Falling

I know that when the leaves fall

We will no longer stand tall,

For beneath the weight of their call

We are made to feel small.

We know when we have lost,

But do we know the cost?

Back and forth again we're tossed,

Our fate is cold as frost.

It's too late to fight.

We're given to night.

The bands are drawing tight

The strength of our plight.

We're in the flame

With none to blame.

The people grow lame.

Same is our aim.

No more rhyme.

Our minds fade.

Our wills are gone.

What is left?

We live?

Not here.

United death

Is all.

Soon

We

Will be

Gone.

Bye.

Confusing Stuff I Wrote In My Journal

Wisdom twists and turns around the bend of fate that we create. With our books, our songs, our speeches, the world we envision is made.

In every shadow rests a word. A word springing from danger, fear, superstition. Why do we fear the dark? Because our worst words wait there. Each one of us in powerless to stop them. They can only be erased by thousands of words from thousands of mouths.

Even then all may be lost. For they have been forgotten before only to creep back into the thoughts of a few and spread like a plague.

Often the light sharpens the shadows that they may pierce all the deeper. For it too is made from words. Often it is believed that the words come from the light. But if that were so, we would not have so many shadows. Unless all shadows and all lights were the same.

The World

The world.

It resides in winter. A winter of fire.

Hot and bright. Cold and dark. Everywhere and nowhere.

Silence prevails above the infinite noise. The terrible silence of apathy. It hides at the edges of speech. And behind the eyes.

Eyes and ears are closed.None will ever know and see but a few. The few cannot overcome except the world realizes. And the world is them. They are the world.