mongonerd

Once again a mind at war, approaching the eye of the storm. Sides divided, battle scarred, approaching the eye of the storm. Taken fast, holding strong, approaching the eye of the storm. Battle weary, battles long, approaching the eye of the storm. Undecided, switching sides, approaching the eye of the storm. Conflict, strife, ideas die, approaching the eye of the storm. Treaties said and taken in, approaching the eye of the storm. Tired heads resting again, approaching the eye of the storm. Agreements reached, wounds then to heal, approaching the eye of the storm. The prisoners to each side revealed. approaching the eye

In the quiet dark of night, ideas float through points of light. Gently gliding through the air, softly, hardly even there. a picture, a note, a word, a thought. Within each of these flakes is wrought. Slowly falling throught the night, on unsuspecting skin they light. When then they touch, though hardly there, the holder then does stop, and stare. For in their mind the thought unfolds, of beauty and light, or horrors untold. For in each thought lies some of each, but each mind turns it to within its reach. Just as one came, more then come forth, each thought ready to prove its worth. For each one is a gift, of boundless pleas

Within the shadows, broken glass, from shattered memories of the past. A lone figure, curled within, talks to others as they come in. It talks of life and wondrous things, the beauty that the life then brings, Of such things it knows not much, it goes by what it sees of such. For it stays within and is content, within its corner, time then spent. But what has happened still remains, unsure if it will come again. Until then it is content, helping others, time well spent. For when one falls into the void, one curls within, safeties deployed. But if one knows the realm so well, they help the others leave that hell. They help

 The House A house at war within the dark, spited by a little spark. Of differences far and few, conflict rises yet anew. For when we open up the door, a scene unfolds and then much more. Within these halls of darkened steel, lies stories that will make minds reel. For every word holds fearsome tales, of man and beast, of seas and gales. Within each song a lost lament, of wonderous glory ever spent. But glory past will long remain, until that time will come again. For souls of glory now will feel, within these darkened halls of steel. Within these hardened walls of stone, a heart curls up and weeps alone. For stone feels no

Glory Dream In this life we live and learn, toiling of as the world now turns. Taking in each drop of life, living then off others strife. Is there fate or do we make it? Do we accept or do we break it? Fighting then the bonds of image, grasping at a haunting visage. Is it real or just a dream, rumors of a place unseen. Why then do we try for it all, when we are likely to take a fall. Taken in then by chance of glory, when others sing praises to our story. Yet it keeps us here, keeps us fighting, keeps us living when struck by lightning. Within the fragile walls of mind, ideas will not be confined. Tales of fancy, tales of