Right before he hit the ground,
All he'd live to this day was flying around,
In the form of a storm of wavering memories
Hopes, Fears, Dreams and what nots.
All the crossroads at the fine line between,
Moving forward and moving on.
Those moments when it was all about,
Weather you stood your ground,
Or you made a sound.
Right then and there when it mattered.
When all there was to do was having cared,
About the people, about the things.
Outside it rains because nobody cries anymore,
It snows because no one knows the true values.
We get out here, we hunt down the truths.
Would he have found answers if he'd had questions.
We boast about wanting things answered,
But no one asks, because we are too scared.
Right there, when the storm hits home
When we need to fight through it, locked out
Or we need to wait it out, locked in
How do we know witch to do...
Who's to say what is there to be done ...
We do all end up in the graveyard as he was about to ...
With the only defining characteristic of our entire life being
As they buried us six feet under
A name and a number
…..
MissAhdynn
Ever feel like sometimes you tend to over-think almost everything ... you have 500 versions of a situation stuck on replay in your head ... and U JUST KEEP THINKIN ... we will write in French, English, and of course Haitian Creole and RARELY Spanish ... but we will write ... we will definitely have something going on up there that we will need to share ... and you just keep reading ...
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
The spark …
Never let the darkness of this earth turn off your light …
For as the sun rises so should you ...
For as the shadows settle in trough the night …
The path should unveil before and after you ...
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