Thy One Fear is . . . (No.20)It’s too much, too much, to have a choice.
With nothing to be hold.
No faults to weigh one down.
No one to be stopped.
Nor given the choice to fight.
For a bribe wins them over, in time.
Everything just comes easy.
Getting everything easy.
Nothing to stop all others.
That even who bolds the clasp, gets it all.
Yet, losing it all can just as happen, it is just so close.
It’s all there, used to one’s pleasure.
Soon again vanish, not dust, just gone.
The unneeded and unwanted closing only grown.
To reach a certain level.
Able to do things, yet know, it could be over.
So soon it hurts.
Having too much is just a nightmare.
That’s what it is.
A bad dream that at any time.
Al of it gone.
Bonds fading from just a mistake.
Trick of worsen affairs.
All earned in little time.
Lost just the same.
Maybe to have it all is just the same.
Not worth it.
Nothing of it is not is worth it!
When it won
Answer in TimeIs there enough time?
To waste it all away,
yet giving enough for it will go from there.
Unto in a world divided,
in living fullest and die off,
hollowing away everything.
remaining it all,
becoming nothing more than it all,
beyond all that,
is there enough time.
To come in mind of this,
a single person is a smart being,
that can do anything,
and be something no other,
thought it could happen.
Yet with people,
they act without thinking,
do things unknowing and guilt ridding at best,
shooting down moments to come and rising the fails of it all,
a shine glow,
that is blinding.
Time is everything we have.
Coming down where it goes from there.
Is there enough to use it?
To live beyond all else,
burning a fire that never dies,
clouding the air,
with nothing else to it.
Or is there to just,
is there anything,
anything that go from there,
From start to end,
all are the same,
what happens in the middle,
is all up for the person,
Not TheirsFor anyone to dare try and have my luck,
feel free to try and live through it,
having a challenge every waking moment,
to always wonder where you,
the moment you wake is home,
or a strange realm you have recollection of,
to as always,
be in a mere panic,
trying to calm down your breath and think back,
as far as you can,
to where it all made sense,
after a few minutes or hours,
you are out of bed,
getting through the day,
still unsure of everything,
but you at least try,
the inner mind walls are higher than ever,
but for good reason of true meaning,
that is clear like a sky blue evening during summer,
you don’t to hurt anyone,
so you smile,
be honest enough that you can hear the eggshells cracking below your rocky steady feet,
compare to nothing,
that failing and breaking into a self,
you don’t what it is,
but only knowing that is you,
a dark you,
and you know you don’t like it,
but no matter what,
that feeling of breaking and falling into that black hol
Thy One Fear Is . . . (No. 19)It starts out something small, like a space, with no room to move.
Alone, while in the distance, the feel of time is going.
Yet, the person is not.
Just standing there, unmoved.
Everything around just keeps going.
Not the person.
Everything is aging in time, but the person, remains still, going nowhere.
Just so still.
Ahead of you.
In the offing.
Just for the future for something.
A pin down drops, deafening the ears, and blind sighting not long later.
Glancing everywhere and noticing how much everything else keeps on, yet not that one person.
The thumping of the heart thunders in the ear, worry that will pause out, only stricken up the sickness within quicker.
Mauling up the tension, ticking them away, blistering under the skin.
Life is moving.
But not that one person.
No way out of it, because if one misstep, something will be missed.
Of what could be, unsure, however so hunger to see it through.
Begging the body to move.
Move! Damn it, move it basta
Gift to Curiosity Inc.What at times,
makes one stand out,
in what they do?
how else to say it,
but knowing it’s a fact,
and only one fits this statement.
there is an avowal;
one tends to show,
not only in their work,
At times it could be irate,
and so on.
out of most,
out of all the psychological sentiment,
one seems not to be spoken much of,
making it rare in critics,
but not to those who understand when coming across that expression.
in young and old,
all have it.
Leaving only one reviewer in mind,
lives by his title,
Curiosity Inc. really shows in his name,
on seeing something wider scale,
than that of much narrow look.
he’ll falter to that,
narrow certain points,
but to only expand on them,
mostly for that their source lack that,
and wants everyone to see it as thus a second look,
than given at once.
With a name like his,
it will be endless bet on when,
Paint a Picture No. 39Finding that one, who understands, and never ask one to change; takes more of a trial than what anyone would never know of, but there within one could try and do whatever it takes.
Molding one’s feeling to another, in maybe searching not only oneself of emotions of compassion takes more than undemanding words. The ones that just leave as murmurs and vacant promises do nothing but concave a heart.
His face only seems to bring that sentiment to life, with dilapidated hands, went with his work. Echoing of the crackling of stone, chip by chip, slowly the heart becomes less of an unsung play, and radio the words that were once unsaid, booming across a large slab of cold stone.
Along in his story, leaving only to grow his passion behind locked doors, many of who knew him, only knows that whatever he constructs, becomes a master piece of its own right.
Through the months, his guarantees to allure others grow unclear and soon, it’s only for him.
From fingers to elbow caked in harde