What's a second when there's the third? What's a number when the only thing that matters is in the heart? How much can be given, with sufficient amount of self left inside before a person plunges deeper into the darker depths of melancholy? What's the attention, when asked with guilt? Have not the lesson learned ages back that life may only get good when one relates love and secrecy to his own? Perhaps all in all, the only answer is a slumber beneath the rumble of humanity. A moving of life unknown of the magnitude of its very existence, a deeper wound that only time, and a sharper blade shall severe off its hypocrisy. Lamentably, no condolences could be expressed for nil would be.
I believe in the ripple, so much so, I believe I am the ripple. Not the cause, but of its composition. Infinite multiplications of circumferences, but gradually belittling itself in unconscious hopes that what's now, could be felt no more, or seen as a matter in fact.
Can two storms befriend the other, and share a common goal of disrupting calm, and all that is collected? What is peace in a moment, made to feel like chaos the next! Who is to agree on an accuracy of a prediction? False opinions, unrealistic perspectives, and make believe make-beliefs.
All I ask is for peace, for humility, and for love.
I believe in the ripple, so much so, I believe I am the ripple. Not the cause, but of its composition. Infinite multiplications of circumferences, but gradually belittling itself in unconscious hopes that what's now, could be felt no more, or seen as a matter in fact.
Can two storms befriend the other, and share a common goal of disrupting calm, and all that is collected? What is peace in a moment, made to feel like chaos the next! Who is to agree on an accuracy of a prediction? False opinions, unrealistic perspectives, and make believe make-beliefs.
All I ask is for peace, for humility, and for love.
