We sit and wait; we became distant in memory, so we grew. A poisonous seed the water-fed the seed washing it out the impurity, growing taller we fell, leaving us singing this song, roses are red, violets are blue, o how I miss you.
It was the first time in his life he seemed unsure of his power. Dimed he turned of the residual light held inside him, letting go, he accepted his existence. People would tell him to stop living a fairytale, so he killed his imagination.
Little did he know his power laid in his imagination. His perspective becomes narrow, following the lustful activities losing sight of his primary light.
Digging deeper, he followed, got lost, but followed, even more, looking for himself in things that kept him in the dark.
Seeing things as they were was both his gift and his curse. Little did he know that there were his angels keeping away his demons, protecting him from the evil that was overtaking him.
His passion in life was to allow people to be people; the more people didn’t let him be himself, his ego took the best of him; one day, he lost everything. He tried to see the meaning of his loss, Closing his everything was black, decided to use his inner light it was too far slandered, so he screamed, cried, yelled, nothing fixed his inner fire, his internal light no longer lived in his heart rather his head.