I Wonder Why I See A Fire,

Boredom is in a way,

Sense of freedom.

The only reason you're bored,

Is because you chose,

Not to act.

The days when I dream,

The days when I stand,

And stare out the window,

Through the misty fog,

No one in sight,

No car passing by,

Just the keen silence,

And peace overcoming defiance,

No sound,

No one found,

Just the pure rain,

Nourishing the ground.

My wish

I wish to scream floods,

To scream away scorching pain,

To bring back your soul.

Maybe there was a fire,

Dancing through the night,

Destruction alight,

The times so dire,

Blazing inferno,

Swallowing it all,

It roars and crackles,

Restraining lives by shackles,

Devour the countless souls,

Trees, skies alike,

Apathy towards those,

Who are helpless,

Who are trying uselessly,

To overpower,

"Flee, little beings,

Flee far, far away."

The fire cackles in its own testament,

Then it sweeps its arms across,

The vast, burning land.

Emptiness,

Barren ground,

Ashes that flit around,

So many will never be found,

Yet now there is an ending,

But a new beginning,

To start again,

To retrieve what is lost,

To realize new dreams,

And to burn bright once more.

Would piercing one's heart with an arrow,

Be any different than with words?

I stood in the forest,

In my solitude,

The swirling breeze,

The only sound,

When I look up,

At the towering trees,

I realize I'm so small,

Compared to the mist,

The bare trace of my silhouette,

Of my warm breath,

There is no knowing,

Beyond this trail.

We drown ourselves in the illusion,

That we drive our lives,

Lost in our own confusion,

There are always secret knives.

We believe we're so wise,

Blinded by unknown lies,

Our destinies held hostage,

By the forbidding skies.

Though who's to say,

That we can have it our way?

The truth held at bay,

From clueless minds,

The changes so mere,

Only seen when we rewind.

Life is not driven by us,

Though we may think we're the biggest bus,

That destiny lies in our hands.

But if you opened up,

Realize,

We are afraid to admit,

That life was never lead,

By us.

I remember the day, when I opened the door,

And I looked upon a cat, upon the soaked floor,

It’s abyssal fur frizzled, the color of midnight,

The yellow eyes, with a tint of light,

Stared at me, with unknown resilience,

Testing me for something that I ought to know,

Yet, suddenly it began to snow,

Flurries, soft, and gentle,

And when they smothered the night,

It blanketed the cat,

Who plodded inside,

Who had the slyest smile,

Who came to my legs, and leaned its head,

The purring ever so slightly,

The little paws gripping on tightly,

The stray cat, so calm, so warm,

Its breathing body strong amidst the cold,

And it fell asleep within my home.

Romance is blind,

The single lost kiss,

So hard to find,

The unknown bliss,

Hidden in the leaves of the Earth,

I'm still waiting,

For true love to birth.

The single feather,

That flutters so feebly,

In the calm breeze,

As if time would almost freeze.

The softest wind,

That escapes my lips,

The feather rising high,

And low,

From the ever-changing tide,

Of the rhythm of time.