Thursday, June 4, 2015


Staring into the sky with its gems shimmering,
The lights running past fiercely indulged in battle,
The wind blowing through the hair,
The unheard bickering of those ants trudging past,
Similar to the rumbling of the mountains, and the spray from the seas,
From the cackle of the birds, to the staccatos we produce,
A race not to finish, a race to remain,
The extinguished farther from the distinguished,
It’s not about anxiety but of anguish,
The heart thuds in the silence, it beats in the darkness,
That’s all there is, for survival.