Little Boy

I see you as a little boy.
When you walk, you hold yourself up like a man but you're a scared boy.
The sound of your laughter and the crinkle around your eyes are all so childish.

In my brown eyes, your colored ones are all that is good in this world
So why then, in your mind, are you less than special?

There are only so many things a person can say and hear and do
but not matter what,
I still can't seem to make you see all the parts I love in you.

Delusional People

Delusional people
lost in the intricate design
of hopes 
fabricated by the imagination,
tangled in the happy mess of
dreams.
Wake up
Take a look
Where are you?
What have you dreamt of?
Did your dreams destroy you?
Your grasp of reality?
Open your eyes
Look at the sun
Wake up
Go for a run
Take a step and fall...
Fall into reality.

New Beginnings

Light illuminating the darkness,
Darkness swallowed by the luminescence
The light that puts you in its embrace
Golden rays
For each and every day.

Unlock your mind
Undo your soul
Leave everything behind
Lose all control

Why don’t you start something new?
With this life that has been given to you?
Turn a new leaf
Forget all the grief

There’s always a beginning and an end
But sometimes they both blend
Into one thing with no start or finish
But take it step by step
Plunge into the unknown, into the depth

When you go to sleep at night
Think of all the things you did right
Relish the thought of things gained with a fight
Look towards your future with a smile; inviting and bright

Don’t every give up,
Don’t ever stop,
Strive for the top.

Do the things you want
For you

Along the lines of "Alone"

I find it funny how when I wanted to be alone, I would be alone and no one could get me back into the real world. During these times, I had people around me, but never directly with me since I preferred the solitude. As a night-person, I can say that the darkness of the night, alongside the luminescent moon and the hushed voices mingled with the soft rustling of the trees always felt like home to me; kind of like a sanctuary. I will always prefer sitting on the window ledge and looking outside to the vast world around to the brightness of a summer morning. This kind of alone is the one I enjoy.

I find it funny how in my worst days, people choose to shy away and refuse to understand what goes on in my life. Then again, when it doesn’t concern you, what good is it to you? This type of loneliness is the one that I do not ask for, but get anyways. I would like to see one person who wouldn’t give up on me, encase me in their warm hugs, shower me with their tenderness and give me a shoulder to cry on. Although I may feel alone…am I really? I have the sense of fear and abandonment that seeps in my heart and fills it with hate; that keeps me company. I have the cold air around me that touches me with its cold whispers and creates an air of emptiness all around.

I find it kind of funny, and I find it kind of sad that the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.

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Something to think about =]
The last line is one from a song that I enjoy, would anyone like to guess as to what the song is? and without looking it up please =P

The Song of the Angels

It has been a while, Author's note in the end. Enjoy!
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The angel drifts over countless clouds, gliding softly over their white and hazy texture. Roaming and wandering the lonely skies, it stretches out its magnificent downy wings; wide across its back, forming arcs on either side of its shoulders. Little feathers; millions of them, all together, united, to form wings as light as air. The angel wears nothing and everything.

The angel looks upon us and smiles with us, and every once in a while it sheds a tear for a broken soul.

During one of its usual roaming above earth, it sees a child...a little child huddled in a corner on a deserted street. Its front is to the wall as it crouches on its feet...its hands are around its ears; its face hidden beneath a mask of tears...

The angel looks and looks and looks...the child pulls on the angel’s heart strings and so it lets its wings sag and allows itself to kneel on the white mass beneath its feet. It reaches its hand downward, an action seen as futile for it cannot come down from its place. The child cries and cries while the angel looks and looks...the old angel feels somehow connected to the little toddler sitting on that curb; a feeling strange and never before experienced.

Night comes and encompasses the earth with its darkness, allowing the only light to come from a strip of sallow moon.

The angel feels strange, gets a sinking feeling of dread...

The surprising man sneaks up and thrusts his knife into the child’s back, wounding him to the point of no return...The little boy has no time to react, but falls to the rock hard pavement with a loud THUD...

The old angel feels aged, like he would never be able to lift up its wings again, like its back would never uncurl from its mobile position. The clouds no longer feel safe; the skies no longer a safe haven.
Slowly and unnoticeable, its feathers start falling...falling...one by one.

The little toddler’s body lies on the hard pavement, hidden beneath the harsh shadows under the cover of the night’s sky. As the night wears on, morning hits with its bright colours of red, yellow and orange, and a new beginning has arisen. The child’s spirit moves on, his soul ascends upwards toward the gate of the Heavens above. His body might have lost its life, but his soul carries itself with assurance. Towards the Heavens he goes, the gates open for his pure soul. Golden light spills from the sliver of an opening, and gradually illuminates the skies with a golden sheen.

The toddler has become an angel; downy wings to match the older angels. He too floats over cities and weaves through dreams.

Decades later, on one of his explorations, he sees a curled up form on a silver cloud. The silver cloud stands out like a sore eye, weighed down by sadness of the old angel atop it and feathers littering the empty space. The young angel now feels drawn towards the still soul in front of his eyes, fixated by the sadness that is rolling in waves͂. He reaches forward and touches the hunched shoulders, and a face slowly emerges from underneath a tucked arm. The face is slightly dazed for it has been a while, and it seems as if it has been woken up from a trance.
The moment the older angel sees the younger, a connection is found; a bear looking at its cub, a mother looking at its son. After the accident decades and decades ago, the mother never dreams to see her son again when her life is taken, and there is even a slighter chance that they would be united in the Heavens.

The song of the angels is a happy one, filled with delight and elation. You could hear it far and wide as the older angel, a mother, clasps the hands of the younger angel, a son, into her own. A song filled with content as they glide over clouds into the sunrise, leaving the unhappiness of the silver cloud behind as they move forward; a new beginning indeed.
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Miles down on Earth...
“Do you hear a sound?”
“It must be the Angels singing”
“Sing for me”

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FIN
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Thank you so much for reading and I am really sorry for the long wait. Thank you to those who have supported me and keep checking back. I hope you liked this although I do think that the older post was better written, I am happy with this =]

A walk down Misery lane

The despair clutches my soul in its iron grip, flowing liquidly but surely through my remains. I can sense it through my arms and in my veins, holding every cell against its will. It leaves a path of broken hopes and dreams in its wake. It makes its way down and roots my feet into place like an ancient tree. It makes its way up and cages my brain but not with a skull. The tears that were once kept at bay now overflow like a stream, drizzling down my cheeks.

Paralyzed is what I feel, drowning my way down, down to the bottom of my sea of misery. The weight of my sorrows anchors me down to the bottom of that sea; a place I never intended to be. Thrashing against the despair, I now feel the numbness. Welcoming it with open arms, for it is a drug that cannot be tasted.

I leave you with my sorrow, till tomorrow. I will ask your forgiveness and write a tale of my happiness; in the land of dreams as it seems is where I am content.
Look again at my despair as I hope for some repair...

-sparkles =]