In time to weep,
we take the chance to smile.
in the warmness of the sun.
It's like the gnawing pangs of cold.
Planting bountifully.
but only reaping in agony
We are but a drama.
starting from the cradle
to end up with mourning faces.
and a billion candles.
we live to see the sun dying
into the horizons of the mountains.
only to see the moon reflecting.
our agonies and penury.
We are like a piano.
stroke with precision.
to bring a melodious crescendo.
and even still, we can be an instrumental,
of tears bringing stabbing tears to the eyes.
We are but a key and a padlock.
we can imprison, as well as set free.
We are a boiling stew ontop a burning furnace.
sweetly poised but dangerously lethal
a broth mixed with oil and water.
We're the light, that illuminates into our darkness.
we are vessels unto good and evil.
perfect existing in the realm of realistic unreality.
We are tragi-comedy.
