There seems to be a rhythm and rush these days where we just stand here feeling empty except for those dreams that are had, in a world that has become both shallow and mean. With no place to run, and just need to do whatever to stay alive. Hoping to make the jump and not take a fall, and if one falls in love may it hurt so bad after having giving it your all, and echo back at you at the end of days; with you being able to raise that full cup in the crimson rays of the dying sun’s dark light.

And when the time comes you can stand and say that you took the unforgiving minute and gave it sixty seconds worth of effort and run, and with each scar you carry and broken bone felt has you able to swear you did it all or tried to as you lived. And when you are called out; you stand your ground and not run like the others around you, and take the pain along with the joy in equal measure. Though there will be times when they will attempt to take away the dreams, and then can’t understand why a heart of steel begins to grow every day and hour as pain is turned into power; and fire can be seen in the eyes that burn red like jungles burning bright.

And in those darkest days when all look like the walking dead, and all that you have held sacred falls down and breaks without ever mending, or when you are sad, and lonely and haven’t got a friend. Just remember that death is not the end. For the tree of life is always growing where the spirit never dies, just like those years that were erased that we all strain to try and recall that happened all too fast.

There is a truth and it is on our side, and I write the way I feel, and showing all these aren’t the thoughts of a man who lies. Here my whole life seems as if I have been waiting for the right time and moment, and still there are times I wonder how I feel, and sometimes stand like I am feeling lost. Remembering when I leaned against a wall looking out at that Temple of Life in the last rays of the sun’s dark light as the skies turned sapphire at the turning of twilight. Wondering what I have become and still everyone I know eventually goes away in the end, and still I remember nearly everything. And hearing the toll of a nearby bell for whom it tolls I have no idea makes me remember that most heroes weren’t made to survive.

And now all seems to be caught up in things we have no control over. They say that life is made of things greater than who we are, and re-runs seem to have become a form of history. It seems that my better half is fading with the first steps seem being taken into the eye of the storm, with time and space being the only thing that stand between us. I can hear both sounds of tearing pages and roar of burning paper which fills the skies as all the crimes turn to air, ash and burned paper.

There’s thunder on the mountain rolling down to the ground, so remember every road has a beginning and an end, and don’t be afraid to let it all in, because the meaner side of life will make all stronger than they will ever know. So just zigzag past all those bridges that were blown and burned and have a bit of a laugh for we all either got what we deserved, or lived and learned.

Copyright Timberwolf International LTD: December 2015 – 25