The moon is true beneath the stars,
But the falling of the season will follow.
Hearts will gather in pain whether sun or rain.
There is no place of earth that holds an infinite peace.
But the ever changing of our souls.
The expansion like the blooming rose in the start of spring.
The dew that settles upon each gentle blade of grass
A story to be told and a story to behold.
There is no place that will forever give you happiness,
It is a constant battle but a battle that is worth more than the metals of earth.
There is no power, be it God, the universe, or those we love,
That will forsake us.
For we lead ourselves to be forsaken.
We give in to a single tear and each after,
We fall for our own tricks but play them like a joker.
Placing cards up our sleeves to play on others to hide our pain.
Hiding within the frosted grounds of winters tears as if we are dead,
We crystallize our hearts with each lie
We die with each passing day that we do not try.
We may suffer from struggle but are shaped smooth from the pressure.
Like a rock to the howls of the ocean and the rushing of sand in each wave
What we feel is never permanent, but how we embrace it is.
How we view our hope, our faith, our love in within.
Either in a string or on our hearts.
Either we raise our swords or fall to them.
Our battles are never truly lost but learned.
With each swing of the blade comes a lesson.
With each breath comes new thoughts, new air, new hope.
With each waking moment life wishes to stop us,
Yet lift us like the fight of gravity and wind.
We whirl between our pains and our gains.
We can carry our baggage alone for only so long,
Follow a single track for so long,
Before our soul’s crack like a brittle branch of a tree.
We are something of magic but so quickly forget our miracles.
So quickly become selfish like the sun to day and the moon to night
We so quickly forget our graces, our gifts, our achievements
We are so blind to help we never ask
Too prideful to whisper our pains,
We crumble, but can be so strong,
Nothing lasts forever,
Don’t be a beggar of pain.
Why choose to water a dead plant,
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