The trick is not to stick with what won’t stick. Life's stories are muddy quarries where worries cloud those under and shroud with their thunder bereft memories like lightning hailing pain for rain.
They paint magenta over black skies or pale blue over white clouds. Some painters dab their brushes in magenta skies others in clouds.
Some steps you leap others you step and reap. Some jumps you miss other’s you fall into.
All in all ever illusive always evasive naturally pervasive remarkably persuasive and definitely destructive.
Reality is a tragedy of farce and irony Enthralled with deception and immorality Compounded by influence and opportunity.
Holding tight to her green and arid sierra shawls, she peers over a fresco valley set in leprechaun gold. Like a megalithic Buddha she rests on a boulder's shoulder beneath a thulian sky lit by a gingerline disco sun.
Home is in your arms. And warmth is in your laughs Right where peace lost its charms. And logic laid down its arms.
Taste is a matter of trust in one's Own self not others' opinion. Not all forms follow the norms. Everywhere you look nature Seems to mirror itself not others.
Happiness is a game of catch and release where catch is a lease that makes you please and release is a pain that takes away peace.
Me, Me, Me, cause reality undressed humanity on tragedy’s runway labeling empathy a runaway from today’s normal!
If walls could talk they would be a point of reference to recount the true story of every human tragedy and joy. If walls could talk, they would show more sympathy and understanding because they can listen for a lifetime without leaving.
Hearts shed people throughout life- like broken angels crossing time- in the form of lovers and loved ones.