Spring

Not Sure What This Is...

I wrote this...poem? I'm not sure what it is, but I wrote it earlier tonight, and something tells me that it should be posted somewhere for people to see...So...this might not make any sense to you, and thats okay, because most of it doesn't make much sense to me either, so lets give this a try and find out what everyone thinks shall we? 

     I live in a box...well many boxes. In one the many stories , the melodies of dreams. Flowers in bloom. Another the reality which is for the hell that consumes my reality. That brief interlude, oh those brief interludes where boxes meet and a slat through one end to meet the other but not to touch. Just to see the beauty of the world I see just beyond the keep of this wretched shadow of what what reality should be. Oh to see those soft blue skies with cotton candy clouds I could almost touch. The skies a velvet blanket scattered with the stars...my affections. 

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Life sucks the whimsy of a soul. Death is an inevitable epilogue. Pain will always grip the hardest as the ashes of your hidden world fall to the ground. Dust in the wind. Stride by stride, momentary lapses of the hope that maybe god will finally answer the prayers my mind screams out still hoping that the blocks of disillusionment there stand in my vision fall and allow precession of wonderful, messy, hopeful world that is the "what should" of reality. God save the condemnation of a lost soul. Hunger for hope and those precious moments where death does not take your judgment in his hands regardless your infants arm always reaching out for god's mercy to still hope for joy in the broken heart and soul only the hard now survive. That is the true reality...Valor and stone are rewarded in this reality care and compassion do not succumb in this world. As for the next who is to know.

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Silence's curtain falls upon the troubled soul as another minute...hour... day passes. Youth an unacquainted lover in the translucent way of time. Never to see those precious moments until they pass you by. Even the hard look through the bars of a cage,  but it is not they who sing the sweetest song of all. The spring of hope and the silent prayer that god really does see...Those seen lay in the hearts of the  warm, and heat, the purifying soul. That for which has been through the most of al...and yet, still sings through its iron bars. Always to keep singing. Fear and pain for them a temporary thing, and then that brief warmth to return. 

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Spring Has Returned To The World.