How often do you notice the death of a single dream, Seeing the last drop dry up from its parched stream, But you don’t really mind, pronouncing not even a tiny scream, As if having anticipated they were all meant
People mistakenly think the darkest hour, is the one before dawn, The darkest hour, is one at which hope has finally withdrawn, Without hope, helplessness is the only player still in the game, But with nobody to play against, the
One of the few things noticed while walking in a maze, Is how earnestly the next turn is beseeching you gaze, Although you already know this isn’t any race, Yet, you fervently want to just get out of the place.
Sometimes, however angry at you, the world might seem, You need to understand, it is just a way of letting off steam, Although snapping back might relieve the pressure causing the flow, You might agree, that it is easier to
Looking around at their cousins taking in the sun, Life for flora was definitely a whole lot of fun, All they had to do, was bide their today as a bud, And tomorrow would show the magic that grew from